Alfred Jones (and Others) and the Prisoner of Azkaban
by friendofthequn
Summary: America and Canada return for their third year at Hogwarts, and this time England is coming with them as the new History of Magic professor. After the disastrous last two years, and with dangerous criminal Sirius Black on the loose, he's not taking any chances with Harry Potter's safety. The Boy Who Lived will need all the help he can get just to stay alive.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE: ARRANGEMENTS**

England stared gloomily at his copy of the _Daily Prophet. _Just like every edition for nearly the entire summer, it had a story on how Sirius Black was still evading capture. Today's was rather small, thankfully, hidden amongst minor stories and advertisements. It was composed of the writer's unsubtle hints that the Ministry's incompetence at apprehending the dangerous criminal was a sure sign that Fudge should resign and let someone like Dumbledore take over his post.

There was a knock at the sitting room door, making England look up. A house elf pushed open the door and made his way over, just barely balancing a tea tray in one hand. "Your tea is ready, sir!" he squeaked. "And Professor Dumbledore is just walking up the drive! Shall I greet him?"

England nodded. "If you don't mind. Thank you, Brownie." While the house elf hurried off to the door, England poured himself a cup of tea and took a large gulp of it. He felt his spirits rise as soon as it hit his taste buds. There was nothing like a good cup of tea to prepare yourself for company.

By the time Albus Dumbledore entered the room, England felt cheerful enough to genuinely smile at him. "Hello, Albus. I'm glad you were able to make it."

"I am pleased as well, England." The headmaster sat down in the chair opposite England's. As the nation poured him some tea, he added, "To be honest, I was surprised to receive your letter. You seemed quite certain when you turned down my offer last year. What changed your mind?"

"All of last year," said England, handing Albus his tea. "And the year before it, as well. I mean, first You-Know-Who tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone, then his memory or whatever was in that diary opened the Chamber of Secrets and Petrified several students, and both of them tried to kill Harry Potter. And now Sirius Black, one of his greatest supporters and the reason that Lily and James Potter are dead, is on the loose and will probably also try to kill Harry. I think you'll need all the help you can get."

"The last few years _have _been odd, to say the least," noted Albus as he drank his tea. "I'm glad your concern for Voldemort's return has finally outweighed your dislike of America's company."

"Just barely," said England dryly. "So, am I hired?"

Albus smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. "Was there ever any doubt? Not many History of Magic teachers have first-hand knowledge of the events they are teaching. I'm sure the students will find it enlightening. Their response to Professor Binns' approach has left much to be desired, such as NEWT classes that number in the double digits."

England chuckled at the joke. "I'll do my best."

The rest of Albus' visit was more social. They discussed recent events other than Black's escape, such as the Weasley family winning a lottery. England didn't know them all that well, but they seemed like very nice people who deserved a bit of good fortune. The headmaster of Hogwarts was a busy man, however, and it felt like far too short a time before he had to leave to attend to other pressing business. Once he was gone, England went to his study to start on the arrangements required for him to teach at Hogwarts for a few years.

First of all, he'd need someone to represent the United Kingdom at the world meetings. It was bad enough having America and Canada absent for most of the year. If the UK dropped out, too, the tiny amount of progress those meetings managed to make would probably vanish. The candidates were Scotland, Northern Ireland and Wales. England tried to picture Scotland at a world meeting. _Let's see… he'd probably show up drunk with Nessie in tow and try to start a fight with some powerful nation we really don't want as an enemy. No, he won't do. _He tried to picture Northern Ireland next. _Well, he'd certainly be good at intimidating the other nations, but he's not exactly stable right now. I don't want to get an angry letter saying he's blown up the meeting hall or something. Not him, either. _Which just left him with Wales. _Great. I'm left with the guy whose only methods of social interactions are 'yelling and arguing' and 'crying and stammering'. That idiot will probably ruin everything, but it looks like he's the best option. God help us all._

England picked up his phone, dialed in Wales' number, and waited impatiently for him to pick up. He didn't have to wait very long, thankfully. It was only about two rings before there was the click of someone picking up on the other end and a sullen voice said, "Hello?"

England took a deep breath and said in his friendliest voice, "Hello, Wales, it's England. How are you doing today?"

"Worse now that you've called," Wales growled. "Stop trying to be friendly, you're rubbish at it. Just get to the point in the most offensive way possible. That's something you're _very _good at."

Ignoring the insult (he'd gotten far worse from Wales), England said, "Fine. I'm going to be teaching at Hogwarts, and I need you to represent the UK at the world meetings."

For a few moments there was absolute silence over the line. Not even the static that accompanied breathing. England was just about to ask whether Wales was still there when he heard a sudden intake of breath and held the phone away from his ear just in time. "WHAT?! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, HALIWR?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY – YOU'RE – WHAT?!"

"It's not that hard to understand," said England. "I'm going to be the new History of Magic professor at Hogwarts, and I need someone to represent the UK at the world meetings. You're… the best candidate." He tried to make those last three words sound natural, but he just couldn't manage it. He still couldn't quite believe them.

"Why are you going to Hogwarts?" Wales demanded. At least yelling seemed to have calmed him down a bit.

"You know how important Harry Potter is for our continued wellbeing, right?" asked England.

"Of course," huffed Wales. "I heard the prophecy, too. Despite what you seem to think, information doesn't just go in one of my ears and out the other."

"And you know that Sirius Black is on the loose."

"Yes. I'm not completely unaware of current events, Lloegr."

England waited for Wales to put two and two together. After ten seconds of silence, he couldn't take it any longer. "Wales, you daft-" He cut himself off before he could say something he'd regret. "I'm going to Hogwarts to protect Harry! It's not that hard to figure out if you use any brainpower whatsoever!"

"Well, I'm sorry we can't all be geniuses!" Wales snapped. After a few moments of silent fuming he admitted, "I _suppose_ that's a good reason to go. Wait, America's still going, right?"

"Yes," said England, not liking how pleased Wales sounded. "Why?"

The older nation chuckled. "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all."

"Oh, pleased, are you?" said England peevishly. "I hope you're just as pleased when you're having to deal with France and Russia and all the others at the meeting."

That did the trick. "D-do I really have to be the one?" said Wales, sounding on the verge of going from yelling mode to crying mode. "Why can't Scotland or North do it?"

"Because they'll both probably turn up drunk and start a war," said England. "As I said, you're the best-" He stopped for a moment as his stomach suddenly heaved. "The best option," he finished once he was sure he wasn't going to throw up.

"Gee, thanks." Again, there was a pause. Then Wales abruptly wailed, "I don't wanna do it!" and burst into tears.

England rubbed his forehead. At times like this he had to remind himself that Wales was the _older _brother. "Wales, you'll be fine," he said, trying not to let his exasperation bleed into his tone. "I'm sure Ireland would be willing to help you out, and a lot of the people there are my old colonies. You always got along with them, right?"

"I-I guess," mumbled Wales. "B-but I won't know a lot of them, and everyone will be like 'Where's England? Wh-who's this guy sitting in his chair?' and that Russia guy sounds really scary and France will be all pervy and I just know I'll mess it up and- and-"

"Cymru!" Wales, surprised to hear the name come from England's mouth, fell silent. "If I really thought you couldn't handle it, I wouldn't have asked you," England continued. "Most of them are going to be glad to see me gone. You can bond with them over how much you hate me. It worked for Scotland and France, after all."

"I-I guess," sniffed Wales. "I do really hate you. Like, really, really, _really _hate you."

England sighed. "Believe me, I've noticed." He started pulling some papers out of his desk. "So, is that a yes?"

Wales sighed as well. "I… I guess so."

"Excellent. I'll send you a report on everything you should know at the end of August. And… Wales…" England took a deep breath. "Thanks for doing this."

Wales clearly hadn't been expecting this. "N-no problem," he stammered. There was a strange crackling noise in the background. "Ddraig, what are you- Y DDRAIG GOCH, STOP THAT RIGHT NOW! GWYDION IS A FRIEND, NOT BARBECUE! LAMB IS NOT ON THE MENU!"

Deciding to stay out of it, England hung up, feeling pleased at his success. Then he remembered that he'd also have to call Scotland to have him call off Peeves and slammed his head into his desk.

**A/N: It's begun! And Iggy's coming to Hogwarts! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \\(^-^)/ Thank you all for your suggestions! I think I've got their Dementor visions figured out now. Don't really know what else to say. I'm kinda tired. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada and America meet up with friends in Diagon Alley. See you all next time!**


	2. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME BACK**

"C'mon, bro, it's gotta be this way!"

"No, that's the way to the nearest McDonald's, eh."

"Really? Well, let's go get some burgers, I'm starving!"

"We ate, like, an hour ago! How can you be hungry again?"

"THE HERO'S STOMACH DEMANDS SUSTENANCE!"

Canada buried his face in his hands, hoping to avoid looking at all the stares he and America were getting from passersby. If America hadn't balked at the thought of using Floo Powder, they'd already be in Diagon Alley. But apparently the hero's bravery didn't extend to walking into a magical fire, so they'd had to do it the Muggle way and take an eight-hour flight. Now they were wandering around good old London town trying to find the Leaky Cauldron. They were so used to having England around to guide them when they visited, it was rather disconcerting.

Canada grabbed America by the back of the collar before he could run off after the smell of fast food and pulled out his map of the city with his other hand. "Looks like we're on the right street. It shouldn't be hard to find, it stands out, eh."

Canada somehow managed to stop America from running off as they searched for the old, dark pub in the midst of the bright storefronts. They didn't have to look for too long, thankfully, and soon enough they'd left a loud, crowded street for the slightly quieter, emptier pub. It quickly became even louder once America recognized the large group of people standing near the bar.

"RON! HERMIONE!" In the blink of an eye America had gone from standing at Canada's side to hugging the living daylights out of Ron and Hermione. "DUDES, IT'S BEEN, LIKE, WAY TOO LONG!"

Canada exchanged an exasperated look with Kumajamie before going over to rescue them. "Alfred, they need to be able to breathe in order to respond," he murmured. "And continue living, eh."

"Oh, right. Whoops!" America released them. "Sorry, dudes! I sometimes forget my super awesome heroic strength!"

"Th-that's fine," Ron panted, clutching his side. "J-just try not to, okay? I think you nearly broke a rib…"

"It is nice to see you guys again, though," said Canada, smiling. He would have hugged them as well, but they were still recovering from America's grip of steel.

"It's nice to see you, too," said Hermione. Her eyes lit up as she seemed to remember something. "Oh! I ran into Francis over the summer while I was in France!"

Canada nodded. "Yes, I know. He told me." _Along with giving me some not-at-all-subtle hints that we should clearly be a couple. _"I hope he wasn't too much of a bother."

"Oh, no, he wasn't a bother at all," said Hermione. "I think my parents saved a lot of money on tour guides with him around. I was surprised by how much he knew about the history of the places we visited, actually." _Well, he was probably there when it happened, so it's not surprising to me._

While they were talking, they'd been ignoring America's conversation with Ron. They couldn't ignore it any longer when America grabbed Canada by the arm and yelled, "BRO, WE'RE GONNA GO FIND HARRY! HE TURNED HIS AUNT INTO A BALLOON!"

"Wha- seriously?!" Canada looked at Ron for confirmation.

"I'll explain while we look," he said. "We can get our supplies along the way."

And so they did. They went to Flourish and Blotts to get their books, including the Monster Book of Monsters. The assistant had burst into tears when they said they wanted four, and America had ended up wrangling them copies while Canada comforted the poor man. No sign of Harry. They went to Madam Malkin's for new robes, since they'd all grown out of their old ones. England had made a slight adjustment to Canada and America's de-aging spell, so that they'd actually grow over the course of the year. It would be rather odd if they only got growth spurts during the summer, after all. Still no sign of Harry. They went to a lot of places, but there wasn't a trace of Harry.

"If he's having an adventure without us, I'm not talking to him for the rest of the year," growled America as they sat down outside Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour.

"We'll see him on the train tomorrow, at least," said Ron as he started eating his ice cream.

"I guess," America muttered, and began eating as well. Though judging from how quickly he finished, perhaps _wolfing it down _was a better description. He was finished before the others were even halfway done. "Well, that was tasty!" he said brightly, all frustration apparently forgotten. Then he glanced at the street and suddenly started waving madly and running over to something. "HARRY! YO, HARRY, DUDE! HARRY!"

Canada, Ron and Hermione's heads all whipped around to see America giving Harry a hug and yelling in his ear. Luckily America seemed to have learned his lesson, because he let Harry go before Canada had to get up and remind him not to suffocate his friends. He dragged Harry over and said loudly, "DUDES, I FOUND HIM!"

"Finally!" said Ron, grinning at Harry as he sat down. "We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but they said you'd left, and we went to Flourish and Blotts, and Madam Malkin's, and-"

"I got all my school stuff last week," Harry explained. "And how come you know I'm staying at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Dad," said Ron simply.

"Did you _really _blow up your aunt, Harry?" said Hermione in a very serious voice.

"Wait, he blew her up? Was the explosion big? Dude, tell me, how did you manage to get explosives?" America demanded.

"She means as in like a balloon, Alfred," sighed Canada.

"I didn't mean to," said Harry, while America and Ron roared with laughter. Canada had to admit, the mental image was rather humorous. "I just- lost control."

"It's not funny, you two," said Hermione sharply to America and Ron. "Honestly, I'm amazed Harry wasn't expelled."

"So am I," admitted Harry. "Forget expelled, I thought I was going to be arrested." He looked at Ron. "Your dad doesn't know why Fudge let me off, does he?"

"Probably 'cause it's you, isn't it?" shrugged Run, still chuckling. "Famous Harry Potter and all that. I'd hate to see what the Ministry'd do to _me _if I blew up an aunt. Mind you, they'd have to dig me up first, because Mum would've killed me. Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself this evening. We're staying at the Leaky Cauldron tonight, too! So you can come to King's Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione's there as well!"

Hermione nodded, beaming. "Mum and Dad dropped me off this morning with all my Hogwarts things."

"Excellent!" said Harry happily. He turned to Canada and America. "What about you two? Are you staying, as well?"

America nodded. "Yup! Iggy booked us a room." He gasped. "Dudes, we should totally have a party! Like, a really huge party!"

"No, we shouldn't," said Canada. "Remember what happened last time?"

America rolled his eyes. "Oh, c'mon, bro! It's not my fault Feliks likes dressing in girl clothes! The pizza guy should have looked closer!"

"I… don't want to know," said Hermione. She frowned suddenly and added, "I didn't see Mr. Kirkland come in with you. Where is he?"

Canada and America looked at each other. "Uh… is it okay for us to say?" asked America.

Canada shrugged. "He never said we couldn't, eh. Go ahead."

He covered his ears as America took a deep breath before shouting, "IGGY'S TEACHING AT HOGWARTS!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione were clearly surprised. "Seriously?" asked Harry. "Is he taking over Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

Canada shook his head. "No, History of Magic. Binns wanted a vacation."

"Well, it won't be hard for him to be an improvement," said Ron. "Does he know a lot about history?"

Canada tried to suppress his laughter while America said in an annoyingly knowing voice, "Oh, yes. Yes he does."

"So, have you got all your new books and stuff?" Harry asked, apparently knowing better than to pry.

Ron showed off his new wand, and they all marvelled at how many courses Hermione was taking. "Alfred's taking nearly as many, why aren't you bothering him?" she snapped after Harry asked whether she was planning on sleeping or eating at all.

"What, seriously?" said Harry, surprised.

America rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Is that really so surprising? I'm taking Care of Magical Creatures and Divination with you and Ron, and Muggle Studies because I was practically raised as one and it'll be an easy pass, and Arithmancy because-"

"Wait, _you're _taking _Arithmancy_?" asked Ron, jaw dropping.

"I like a challenge," said America. "And I'm pretty good with numbers. Shocking, I know."

"Which classes are you taking, Matthew?" Hermione asked. Harry and Ron jumped and looked at Canada with surprise, as if they'd forgotten he was there.

"Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies, and Ancient Runes," Canada murmured.

America grinned. "Sweet! I heard that Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs are having Muggle Studies together, so that's gonna be great! We can just spend the whole class laughing at how ignorant wizards are!"

Hermione glared at him. "You shouldn't take a class just to laugh at it, Alfred," she said reproachfully. "But it would be nice to have more classes with you, Matthew." She suddenly blushed. "Er, um, I-I didn't mean it like that!"

Canada sighed. "Did Francis get to you, too? He needs to be stopped."

**A/N: I'm having a bit of trouble getting back into the swing of things, but here you go! You finally know which classes America and Canada are taking! Also, France, stop shipping CanadaxHermione! It's not going to happen! :P HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \\(^-^)/ I'm glad you're all so excited for this! NEXT CHAPTER: America and friends get on the train. See you all next time!**


	3. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO: BAD FEELINGS**

America had been disappointed by his awesome party idea being vetoed, but when he woke up the next morning his excitement at going back to Hogwarts outweighed that disappointment. He woke up five minutes before he really needed to and jumped out of bed. He went over to the still-sleeping Canada, leaned down, and shouted right into his ear, "YO, MATTIE, WAKEY-WAKEY!"

Canada let out a strangled yelp and flailed around a bit. America laughed until he finally seemed to get his bearings and sat up, glaring at him. "That wasn't funny, Alfred," he muttered as he untangled himself from his sheets.

"Oh, yes it was," America chuckled. The two of them got ready for the day quickly and went to Harry's room to see if he needed to be woken up, running into a grumpy Ron along the way.

"YO, DUDE, YOU AWAKE?" America yelled as he walked into the room.

Harry, who was already dressed and was just trying to coax Hedwig into her cage, jumped and whirled around. "Well, I certainly am now," he said. "I don't think there's a sleeping person in the building after that."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment," America said brightly, sitting down on Harry's bed. He bounced on it a few times. "Dude, your bed's _way _comfier than mine. How much money did this room cost you?"

Harry shrugged. "I… don't actually know. I'm not sure I've actually paid for it."

America gaped at him. "What, _free_?" He laid back with a groan. "Top-of-the-line broomsticks, Invisibility Cloaks, fancy rooms… do you ever have to pay for _anything _nice?"

Harry looked a bit guilty. "Er… sorry?" His expression became more seriously. "Actually, I've got something to tell you all." That piqued America's interest enough to sit up straight again. Sadly, Fred and George chose this moment to pop in and congratulate Ron on pissing off Percy again, and Harry went quiet. Clearly, whatever he wanted to say was for his friends' ears only. Ron tried to get him to talk during breakfast, but he refused. America was too focused on not throwing up the British food to question him further.

Harry didn't have the chance to tell them whatever his secret was after breakfast, either, since everyone was busy carrying their trunks and pets downstairs. Kumawhatever wandered about freely, eating scraps off the floor and approaching random strangers for pats to the head, much to the resentment of the caged Hedwig, Hermes and Crookshanks, if the way they were eyeing him was any indication.

Mr. Weasley, who had been waiting outside for the Ministry-provided cars, stuck his head inside. "They're here. Harry, come on." Watching him march Harry to the nearest car, glancing nervously up and down the crowded street, America couldn't help but be reminded of a bodyguard escorting a threatened politician. He, Canada, Ron and Hermione all joined Harry in the back seat. The car was much bigger on the inside, which might have been impressive if America hadn't been pretty desensitized to magic by this point.

"So, Harry, will you tell us _now_?" asked Ron. Harry shook his head, looking pointedly at the driver. Canada and Hermione looked confused while Ron and America rolled their eyes at each other. At this rate they wouldn't hear whatever it was Harry wanted to say until they were on the train to Hogwarts.

Thanks to their physics and traffic law-defying cars, they reached King's Cross Station far faster than America would have thought possible. Once they were all out Mr. Weasley immediately escorted Harry into the station, again reminding America of a bodyguard. Once they were all in the station, they went through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ in pairs (except for Hermione, who ended up going through alone since they were an odd number). America went with Canada, of course, and this time he just barely managed to suppress the urge to run at the wall yelling a mighty warcry.

They all put away their luggage and Mrs. Weasley kissed all her children farewell, along with Hermione and Harry. Afterwards, to both their surprise, she went up to America and Canada. "You take care of yourself as well, Alfred," she said warmly, giving America a hug. America was flabbergasted. He really wasn't used to having someone else initiate a hug. Especially not the warm, motherly kind of hug he was currently on the receiving end of.

"S-sure," he stammered, completely flummoxed as to what he was supposed to say in this situation. He was rather relieved when Mrs. Weasley released him and turned to Canada.

"I haven't forgotten about you, Matthew," she said, hugging him as well. "Stay safe. And make sure your brother doesn't do anything foolish."

"I'll try, eh," Canada mumbled, clearly just as out of his depth as America had. America looked around and noticed Mr. Weasley speaking quietly to Harry, both of them looking very serious. _Are they talking about what Harry wanted to talk to us about?_

Before he could sneak over to try and eavesdrop, Mrs. Weasley released Canada and began shepherding them all onto the train. "Arthur! Arthur, what are you doing? It's about to go!" she shouted.

"He's coming!" Mr. Weasley called out, but America could see him turn back to Harry and continue their discussion, though to be fair it looked more rushed than before.

Mr. Weasley held Harry up enough that he just barely made it onto the train. "I need to talk to you four in private," he muttered once they'd all finished waving goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Go away, Ginny," said Ron.

"Oh, that's nice," Ginny huffed, and she stalked off.

"That was pretty rude, eh, Ron," said Canada reproachfully as they began looking for an empty compartment.

"She'll survive somehow," said Ron. "Is _everywhere _full?" It certainly seemed that way. Why couldn't _they _ever get first pickings? It wasn't as if they were _that _late. Well, okay, maybe this time they were, but they hadn't been before! Whatever the reason, the only compartment that wasn't full was at the very end of the train, and still wasn't completely empty.

The lone occupant was a man napping next to the window. They all hesitated on the threshold. America had always thought the Hogwarts Express was a kids-only ride. England had somehow gotten to Hogwarts a few days earlier, so America had assumed teachers got there via some other method. Though, judging from how shabby and patched his robes were and his air of being several meals short of healthy, perhaps this was simply the only way he could afford.

"Who d'you reckon he is?" Ron hissed, as they sat down and slid the door shut quietly, the Golden Trio quickly taking seats as far away from the man as possible. America ended up sitting across from him, while Canada was left with the spot right beside him.

"Professor R. J. Lupin," whispered Hermione at once.

"Okay, seriously, dude, how do you know _everything_?" America stage-whispered.

"It's on his case," replied Hermione, pointing at the luggage rack over the man's head. There was indeed a small, battered case with the name 'Professor R. J. Lupin' stamped on it.

"He must be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," whispered Canada. "Unless there's another opening we haven't heard about…"

"Well, if he is, I hope he's up to it," said Ron doubtfully. "He looks like one good hex would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway," he turned to Harry. "What were you going to tell us?"

They all listened in rapt silence as Harry told them that Sirius Black, murderer and only person to ever escape the super-special wizard prison, wanted to kill him on Moldyshort's behalf and that Mr. Weasley had made him promise not to chase after the dangerous murderer.

America sighed. "Dude, what's really upsetting about that is how little it surprises me. Why is it people keep trying to kill you? Did you piss off divine forces or what?"

"Alfred, don't turn this into a joke," scolded Hermione. Her tone became more fearful as she turned back to Harry. "Oh, Harry… you'll have to be really, really careful. Don't go looking for trouble, Harry…"

"I don't go looking for trouble," said Harry. "Trouble usually finds _me. _I think Alfred might actually have a good theory."

America grinned. "The hero's theories are always good!"

After a bit more discussion about how awful it was that Harry was in mortal danger yet again, and a spinning top thingy acting weird, the conversation turned to Hogsmeade. England had signed America and Canada's permission forms with only minimal pleading and guilt-tripping required, and the little he'd told them about the village seemed promising. Hearing Ron describe the candy from Honeydukes with loving detail was enough to make America's mouth start watering. Canada seemed more interested in the same stuff Hermione was, which was everything else in the village. America didn't listen to them all that much, but he did make a mental note to not go within a mile radius of the Shrieking Shack.

Then Harry told them the Dursleys hadn't signed his form and things got rather awkward. They were quickly distracted by Crookshanks trying to eat Scabbers again, though. As the trip went on, they started to become a bit worried that Professor Lupin might actually be dead, but Canada confirmed that he was still breathing, and they all calmed down. As quiet as the professor was, his presence came in useful when Draco Malfoy (hehe, stupid name) poked his smug face in. He'd only gotten perhaps two insults in before he noticed the teacher and backed off. _Man, we should keep this guy around all the time! He's like a Malfoy-repellant!_

A little while later, but not long enough for them to have arrived at Hogwarts, the train began slowing. "Brilliant," said Ron, getting up and making his way over to the window. "I'm starving. I want to get to the feast…"

"Dude, I'm pretty sure we aren't there," said America, getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. Hermione nodded in agreement, looking at her watch.

"Then why are we stopping?" asked Ron.

Canada hugged Kumawhatever closer to his chest. "I've got a bad feeling about this, eh…"

The train continued to slow down, and Harry poked his head out into the corridor. Then it jolted to a halt and the sound of luggage crashing to the ground resounded through the train. Then the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

"What's going on?" said Ron's voice.

"Ouch!" gasped Hermione. "Ron, that was my foot!"

"Well, Mattie, looks like you were right," said America.

"Small comfort, eh," Canada murmured.

"Who are you?" came the somewhat squeaky voice of Kumawhatever.

"I'm Matthew."

"D'you think we've broken down?" asked Harry's voice.

"Dunno…" said Ron. There was a squeaking sound, and America thought he could see Ron wiping clean a patch on the window and peering through it. "There's something moving out there," he said. "I think people are coming aboard…" America leaned over to peer through the window and indeed saw vaguely humanoid silhouettes moving towards the train.

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell in. "Sorry! D'you know what's going on? Ouch! Sorry-"

"Yo, Neville, 'sup?" said America, feeling around on the floor and pulling Neville up by his cloak.

"Alfred? Is that you? What's happening?"

"Not a clue! Sit down and-" Judging from the loud hissing and Neville-sounding yelp of pain, Neville had tried to sit on Crookshanks.

"I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on," said Hermione. America thought he heard footsteps, definitely heard the door slide open again and then a thud and two loud squeals of pain.

"Who's that?"

"Who's _that_?"

"Ginny?"

"Hermione?"

"What are you doing?"

"I was looking for Ron-"

"Come in and sit down-"

"Not here!" said Harry. "I'm here!"

"Ouch!" said Neville.

"Quiet!" said a new, hoarse voice suddenly. It seemed Professor Lupin had finally woken up. America saw some shadowy movements in the corner, and then there was a soft, crackling noise and a shivering light filled the compartment. Professor Lupin was holding a handful of flames.

"Dude, that looks totally awesome!" said America. "Can you teach me to do that?" Being able to hold flames seemed totally badass.

Lupin looked at him. "Not at the moment. Stay where you are," he said, the last sentence directed to the compartment at large. He slowly got to his feet with the handful of fire held out in front of him. But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.

A cloaked figure stood in the doorway, towering with its head brushing the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden under its hood. If it had been holding a scythe, America would probably have assumed it was the Grim Reaper and punched it in the face, because who wants to say they met the Grim Reaper and didn't punch him in the face? As it was, he simply sat there, unsure of whether the newcomer needed to be punched or not.

Then whatever it was took a deep, rattling breath, and America was plunged into his own personal hell.

**A/N: Whoooo cliffhanger! And I'm probably not going to explain exactly what he saw for a few chapters, so have some HUGS \\(^-^)/ as an apology. Now for the first Q&amp;A of this book! To Serebiiet: I think I explained it in the last book, but Peeves promised Scotland that he will cause England all the trouble he can muster whenever he's at Hogwarts. To 95Jezzica: The first two questions will be answered in due time. And as for the third one, I'll leave it up to your imagination. To TheChibitalian: You should be friends with Sheldon Cooper, then. And I'm sorry, but Canamione isn't going to happen. France is just getting caught up in his shipping fantasies. NEXT CHAPTER: Harry finds he isn't the one who responds worst to the Dementors. See you all next time!**


	4. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE: SHELL-SHOCK**

"Harry! Harry! Are you all right?"

Someone was slapping his face. "W-what?" Harry opened his eyes. There were lanterns above him, and the floor was shaking – the Hogwarts Express was moving again and the lights had come back on. He seemed to have slid out of his seat onto the floor. Ron and Hermione were kneeling next to him, and above them he could see Neville and Professor Lupin watching. Harry felt very sick; when he put up his hand to push his glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his face.

Ron and Hermione heaved him back onto his seat. "Are you okay?" Ron asked nervously.

"Yeah," said Harry, and then he noticed Alfred and Matthew. He was amazed he hadn't noticed them sooner. They'd probably been lying on the ground on either side of him. Their eyes were closed and they were violently shivering as if they'd been splashed with cold water in the middle of a blizzard. "A-are they?"

"Hope so," said Ron, going back to kneeling next to Alfred. "We thought you'd all wake up at the same time, but…" His voice trailed off as Alfred gave a sudden twitch so violent Ron was nearly kneed in the stomach.

Harry looked at the door, now blessedly free of cloaked figures. "What happened? Where's that – that thing? Who screamed?"

"No one screamed," said Ron, more nervously still.

Harry looked around the bright compartment. Ginny and Neville looked back at him, both very pale. "But I heard screaming-"

A loud snap made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab of chocolate into pieces. "Here," he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. "Eat it. It'll help."

Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it. "What was that thing?" he asked Lupin.

"A Dementor," said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else. "One of the Dementors of Azkaban." Everyone stared at him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his pocket. "Eat it," he repeated. "It'll help." He handed two extra pieces to Harry and motioned to Alfred and Matthew with his other hand. "Make sure to give them some once they wake up, too. I need to speak to the driver, excuse me…" He strolled past Harry and disappeared into the corridor.

"Are you sure you're okay, Harry?" said Hermione, watching Harry anxiously.

"I don't get it… what happened?" said Harry, wiping more sweat off his face.

"Well – that thing – the Dementor – stood there and looked around (I mean, I think it did, I couldn't see its face) – and you – you"

"Well, you looked like that," said Ron, pointing at Alfred and Matthew.

"And Professor Lupin stepped over you all, and walked towards the Dementor, and pulled out his wand," said Hermione. "And he said, 'None of us is hiding Sirius Black under our cloaks. Go.' But the Dementor didn't move, so Lupin muttered something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around and sort of glided away…"

"It was horrible," said Neville, in a higher voice than usual. "Did you feel how cold it went when it came in?"

"I felt weird," said Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. "Like I'd never be cheerful again…"

It was at that moment that Matthew's eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright, reaching for something and yelling, "Frère aîné! Ne me quitte pas!" It sounded like French, but Harry was hardly an expert.

Hermione, who had been kneeling next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. "Matthew!" she said, obviously relieved. That relief almost immediately turned to worry. "Matthew, are you all right?"

Matthew turned his head toward her, and though Harry couldn't see his expression he could see his back moving with fast, panicked breathing. "I-I-" Matthew looked around the compartment, and his breathing seemed to calm down a little bit. "Y-yeah, I-I'm o-okay." His pet bear climbed into his lap and put his front paws on his shoulders, looking at him critically. Matthew smiled and let out a shaky, hollow-sounding laugh. "Don't worry, eh, Kumachie. I'm just…" His eyes fell on his brother. "Alfred!" He crawled over, dislodging Kumajiro. "W-what's happening to him?"

"Same thing that was happening to you," said Ron. "It must've been the Dementor…"

Alfred chose that moment to wake up. He too sat bolt upright and yelled something, though maybe 'sobbed' was a better descriptor. "He had freckles!" Then he curled up into a fetal position and started crying. Everyone in the compartment wore a shocked expression. The only time Harry had ever seen Alfred cry before was at the end of last term, when they'd thought Matthew was dead. He wasn't, of course, and everything had worked out in the end, but it had still been quite the shock. It was probably even more of a shock for Hermione, Ginny and Neville, who hadn't been there and were probably witnessing Alfred's tears for the first time.

Matthew tentatively placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Alfred," he murmured. Alfred looked up at him, eyes very red and tears blurring his glasses. He took them off and started cleaning them off on his shirt, sniffing. He held them up again, and suddenly started looking at them as if they'd turned into a poisonous scorpion. With a shout he threw them at the wall, where they shattered on impact. He burrowed his head into his knees again and resumed his crying twofold. Matthew moved so he was sitting next to him and cautiously wrapped an arm around his shoulders, clearly worried he'd pull away. He didn't, so they remained like that for about a minute, with Matthew occasionally murmuring things too quiet for anyone else to hear.

The reason it only lasted for a minute returned. Professor Lupin paused as he entered the compartment, taking in the sight of the sobbing Alfred. Then he looked at the rest of them and said, with a small smile, "I haven't poisoned the chocolate, you know." Harry handed the extra pieces to Matthew and took a bite out of his own piece. To his great surprise he felt a warmth spread suddenly to the tips of his fingers and toes.

Matthew clearly had the same feeling, because he looked much more relaxed, if still a bit shaken. He held the other piece in front of Alfred and gave him a gentle shake. "Here, Alfred, have this, you'll feel better, eh." He waved it near his face and half-sang, "It's chooo-colate."

Alfred lifted his head and opened his mouth to say something. Before he could get a sound out, Matthew had shoved the entire piece into his mouth. He let out a muffled sound of annoyance, but he swallowed and seemed to cheer up marginally. "Thanks," he said quietly, giving Matthew a small, strained smile.

Matthew smiled back more, if still not entirely, genuinely. "No problem, eh."

"We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," said Professor Lupin. "Are you three all right?" He looked pointedly at Harry, Alfred and Matthew.

"Fine," Harry muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I'm okay," said Alfred and Matthew simultaneously. Neither of them sounded very convincing, especially Alfred. Neither of them sounded _convinced_, frankly.

Hermione held Alfred's repaired glasses (she must have done it when Harry wasn't looking) out to him. "Here are your glasses, Alfred."

Alfred stared at them with a look of disgust. "I don't want them," he said flatly.

Hermione frowned in confusion. "But you need them to be able to see properly. Surely you-"

"I just… I can't, okay?" he said, sounding rather desperate. "I just… can't. I've got contact lenses in my trunk, I'll use those."

"All right," said Hermione, still obviously confused but also not wanting to potentially hurt Alfred's still vulnerable feelings.

They didn't talk much during the remainder of the journey. With the addition of Ginny and Neville there wasn't much room on the seats, so Alfred and Matthew just stayed on the floor. Seeing Alfred so quiet and reserved was almost more disturbing than the screams that still frequently echoed in Harry's ears. He'd stopped crying at the very least by the time they reached Hogsmeade, but he still just stared miserably into the distance. Harry had heard the phrase 'thousand-yard stare' before, but he'd never seen such an expression on a living person before. He certainly hadn't expected to see it on _Alfred._

At long last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to get out; owls hooted, cats miaowed, Neville's pet toad croaked loudly from under his hat, and Kumajiro occasionally asked "Who are you?" It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets.

After waving hello to Hagrid, they followed the rest of the school out onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches awaited the remaining students, each pulled seemingly by invisible horses. Before they climbed into one, Harry noticed Alfred and Matthew give the places horses would usually be very solemn looks. When Harry asked about why they'd done that, though, they both shook their heads and said, "Nothing."

**A/N: And the cliffhanger still isn't resolved! I think you can guess what Canada saw if you've got GoogleTranslate. America's odd behaviour will be explained in time. HUGS! \\(^-^)/ Now Q&amp;A! To RussianMochi: 1) I probably shouldn't say, internet safety and all that. I'm kind of curious what gender you think I am, though. 2) There are quite a few, but the first one to come to mind would be The Price of Wisdom, another HP/Hetalia crossover. I really hope it updates soon... 3) I'll change it once I find a good picture, get the motivation, and figure out how to actually do that. I'm not very internet savvy, really... 4) Nope, just rain. Lots and lots of rain. So much rain... 5) Nope, you're good! To SoulxMakaLover37: Maybe once he can cast a Patronus. I kind of want to write that now... To SilentMoonLace13: OMNOMNOMNOMNOM. And yes, brownies are good. And... oh, God... um... Harry Potter? I was so disappointed when I turned eleven and didn't get my Hogwarts letter. NEXT CHAPTER: America learns how he will get to all his classes. See you all next time!**


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR: HOURGLASS TIME MACHINE**

By the time they reached the castle, America felt that he'd recovered enough to fake his normal enthusiasm. Fake it 'till you make it, as the saying went. He didn't want to worry his friends any more than he already had, and there was no way he'd let England see him like this. So he pushed the memories of… of the thing he _did not want to think about _as far to the back of his mind as he possibly could and managed to smile as he and the Golden Trio stepped out of the carriage.

"I dunno about you, dudes, but I'm starved!" he said as brightly as he could. "Hope the Sorting doesn't take too long."

Then a drawling voice sounding far too happy drilled straight into his brain. "You _fainted_, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually _fainted_?" Draco Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block Harry's way up the stone steps to the castle, his face looking more punchable than ever before.

America clenched his hands into fists and tried to exert some self-control. "Go away, Malfoy," he said as calmly as he could manage.

Malfoy's smile only widened. "He said you fainted, too, Jones. Was the big scary Dementor too much for the hero?"

Something inside America almost audibly snapped. He grabbed Malfoy by the front of his robes and slammed him against the carriage with enough force to send it rocking. Only some subconscious moral constraint stopped him from caving the brat's skull in right then and there. "Malfoy, I am cold, I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I've just had to relive things beyond the scope of your nightmares," he snarled. "You do _not _want to make me angry right now."

Malfoy managed to let out a squeaky whimpering sound, his eyes wide with terror. America wasn't sure what he would have done next, but Malfoy should have been thanking his lucky stars when an authoritative voice behind them said, "Alfred, let him go."

America looked over to see Professor Lupin had just gotten out of the next carriage and was giving him one of those 'I'm not angry, I'm disappointed' looks. America closed his eyes, took a deep breath to calm himself down, and let go of Malfoy. He could hear him scramble away, muttering something along the lines of, "My father will hear about this!"

Once he was sure the Slytherin was out of his line of sight, he opened his eyes again and turned to his friends. They were all looking worried and… scared? No, that couldn't be it… they were his friends, they shouldn't be scared of him. Their faces were a bit blurry without his glasses on, he must have just misidentified it. He plastered a smile onto his face that even he could tell was completely false and said, in a rather high-pitched voice, "Well, let's go! As I said, I'm starved!" He set off for the castle but almost immediately tripped on something.

Somebody managed to catch him and help him balance before he faceplanted, thankfully. "Be careful, eh," said Canada. "You know, if you had your glasses on, you'd have been able to see that rock…"

America tried his best not to blanch. He let out a laugh so false it nearly made him wince and said, "Nah, don't need them while I have you here, bro! You can be like my seeing-eye dog or whatever!"

"All right," said Canada, his voice overflowing with worry. They made their way to and up the steps, with Canada warning America of any loose stones or branches he might trip on otherwise. Harry, Ron and Hermione followed, exchanging worried and confused glances the entire way.

It was a relief to get inside and away from the cold rain. America shook out his wet hair like a dog. One good thing about not wearing his glasses was that he didn't have to worry about dislodging them anymore. The bridge of his nose felt oddly light, but he was sure he'd get used to it soon. There was no way he was putting those things on again. He couldn't believe he had _ever _put them on. How could he have? How could he possibly have brought himself to so much as touch them? How could he…

"Potter! Jones, both of you! Granger! I want to see you four!" America was jerked from his thoughts by Professor McGonagall's voice. After ascertaining through looks that they all felt the same sense of dread and foreboding, they pushed their way through the crowd toward the Head of Gryffindor House.

"There's no need to look so worried- I just want a word in my office," she told them. "Move along, there, Weasley." Ron stared as Professor McGonagall ushered them all away from the crowd and toward her office.

Once they were there, the professor gestured for them to sit down, conjuring two extra chairs with her wand. She settled herself behind her desk and said abruptly to America, Canada and Harry, "Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you three were taken ill on the train."

Before any of them could say anything in reply, there was a soft knock at the door and Madam Pomfrey came bustling in. Harry went red in the face, Canada sunk low in his seat, and America groaned and buried his face in his hands. He just wanted to forget that Dementoid thingy had ever come into their compartment. How could he do that when people kept fussing over him? Harry seemed to feel the same way, since he said, "I'm fine, I don't need anything-"

"Oh, it's you two, is it?" said Madam Pomfrey, giving America and Harry exasperated looks. Ignoring his protests, she bent down to look at Harry closely. "I suppose you've been doing something dangerous again?" _I wish…_

"It was a Dementor, Poppy," said Professor McGonagall.

They exchanged a dark look and Madam Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly. "Setting Dementors around a school," she muttered, pushing back Harry's hair and feeling his forehead. "They won't be the only ones who collapse. Yes, he's all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate-"

"I'm not delicate!" said Harry crossly.

"Of course you're not," said Madam Pomfrey in such an absent-minded way America had to chuckle at it. She glowered at him while she took Harry's pulse. "Don't look so pleased with yourself, Jones, you're next."

"What do they need?" said Professor McGonagall crisply. "Bed rest? Should they perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?"

"I'm _fine_!" said Harry, jumping up.

"Yeah, we're all fine!" America agreed, getting up as well. "We'd be better if people didn't keep bringing it up!"

"Well, they should have some chocolate, at the very least," said Madam Pomfrey, who was now trying to peer into Harry's eyes.

"We've already had some," said Canada, making everyone jump. "Professor Lupin gave us all some on the train, eh."

"Did he, now?" said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. "So we've finally got a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies."

"Are you sure you feel all right, Jones?" said Professor McGonagall sharply. "Professor Kirkland said you two would be more… vulnerable to the Dementors."

"Yes! I'm fine! We're all fine! We're absolutely freaking a-okay!" exclaimed America, throwing his arms in the air. "Now would everyone please stop babying us already!"

"Very well. Mr. Potter, Mr. Jones – not you, the other one-" she quickly added when America looked up hopefully. "Kindly wait outside while I have a word with Miss Granger and _this _Mr. Jones about their timetables, then we can go down to the feast together."

Canada, Harry and Madam Pomfrey all left the room. As soon as the door had clicked shut she opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out a small, official-looking package. "Now, I'm sure you two are aware that you've chosen to take more classes than the others in your year."

America and Hermione looked at each other. He was glad to see she looked just as confused as he felt, even if her expression was still rather fuzzy due to his bad eyesight. "Yes, I suppose we are," said Hermione.

Professor McGonagall steepled her fingers. "Well, the simple fact is that you do not have enough room in your timetables for all your classes."

"What?!" said America. "Why are you only telling us this now?! There should've been something on the slip saying there was a limit, dude!" He remembered who he was talking to. "Er, I mean, professor. Dude."

Professor McGonagall nodded her head in appreciation for his attempt at respect. "With most students, I would have taken you aside and asked you to let go of a few classes. But, since Miss Granger has been such an exemplary student, and you are in most of the same classes, I requested a Time-Turner from the Ministry of Magic."

America was just confused, but Hermione gasped. "A Time-Turner? You're trusting us with a _Time-Turner_?"

"Uh, what's a Time-Turner?" asked America.

Hermione was as happy to explain something as ever. "It's… well, you like science fiction, so you'll understand me when I say it's essentially a time machine."

America's jaw dropped. "A time machine? They're giving us a _time machine?!_" He felt himself grin genuinely for the first time since the train. "Sweet!" He turned to McGonagall, practically bouncing in his seat. "C'mon, dude, hand it over! This is so awesome! An actual _time machine!_"

Professor McGonagall watched his antics for a few moments before turning to Hermione and saying, "You'll be the one in charge of it, Miss Granger. Make sure to bring him along when you go to Arithmancy." The professor pushed the package toward her and she happily began unwrapping it.

America's excitement drained away. "Aww, man. Why don't I get to be in charge of the time machine?"

"After telling them a bit about you two, the only way the Ministry would agree to my request was if you were never allowed to touch it," explained Professor McGonagall. She suddenly frowned, eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement. "What happened to your glasses?"

America felt the last vestiges of happiness flee from his face. He dropped his eyes to the floor, nervously brushing a strand of hair behind an ear. "I… I'm gonna wear contacts from now on. Don't ask." He felt Professor McGonagall's stare burning a hole in his head, but to his immense relief she didn't question it.

"Thank you so much, professor," said Hermione, in a tone that suggested she was so enthralled in unpacking her new time machine she was completely unaware of their conversation.

"You're welcome, Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall. She disposed of the empty wrappings with a wave of her wand and got to her feet. "Now that that's settled, I believe I have kept you from your dinner long enough."

**A/N: I am such a tease... I'm sorry, I'll explain what America saw eventually! I just haven't had a good opportunity yet! I'll say that at least one of you guessed right, though. PLEASE ACCEPT MY APOLOGETIC HUGS! \\(^-^)/ Now for Q&amp;A! To MeoTheRandom: Yeah, they found out about thestrals in the last book. And I know what canon says, but bleh this is fanfiction, where fanon rules supreme! And France is definitely going to be in GoF. To Hufflpuff: I'd forgotten about Davie... God, that strip was depressing. And being kinda homeschooled gives me lots of writing time! To RussianMochi: Cross my heart and hope to die! I just want to know how masculine/feminine I seem. And I did the avatar thing! I just used a picture that came with the computer. I'm not very creative. To SilentMoonLace13: OMNOMNOMNOMNOMNOM yum brownies. Don't worry, it's not HetaOni. And I'm not really that much of a shipper, but if I had to ship Canada with anyone I guess it would be Prussia. They'd make an interesting couple. NEXT CHAPTER: England is introduced to the Hogwarts student body. See you all next time!**


	6. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE: SMILING DOESN'T MEAN IT'S OKAY**

England would never admit it aloud, but he was relieved to see America enter the Great Hall, even if he did have a rather glum expression. It wasn't as if he'd been worried by the younger nation's absence. Of course not. And he _definitely _hadn't wanted to see him again. Definitely not. It was just that anyone would have felt a tiny twinge of concern about him after hearing he'd been faced with a Dementor. Yes. That was it. Oh, and he was glad Canada was all right, too, of course.

America, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger made their way to the Gryffindor table, attracting many stares and a few pointed fingers. England wouldn't be surprised if the story of their collapse had spread already. He was surprised, however, to see that America, rather than basking in the attention like he normally would, had his head ducked down and obviously wished people would stop staring. _The Dementor must have been pretty bad… Not that Dementors are ever good, of course. _Then England realized he was worrying about America and focused on Albus, who was just getting to his feet.

The entire hall went quiet as they realized the headmaster was about to speak. "Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast…" He cleared his throat, and his displeasure was obvious as he continued. "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

Despite himself, England had found his gaze pulled to America and saw him flinch at the mention of the Dementors. _I need to talk to him about it, don't I. Great. That's going to be a cheerful discussion. Oh, and Canada, too. _ Albus's voice jerked back his attention. "They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds, and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises – or even Invisibility Cloaks." America and his friends glanced at each other nervously. "It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the Prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs foul of the Dementors."

The headmaster ran his eyes over the entire hall to get his point across even more thoroughly. Then, in more pleasant tones, he said, "On a happier note, I am pleased to welcome three new teachers to our ranks this year. Firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

The only people to applaud enthusiastically were America, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny Weasley, a round-faced boy sitting near them, and Canada. England was relieved when America let out a cry of, "Yeah, you rock!" and completely ignored the odd looks he received. It was good to see his usual self hadn't been completely consumed by depression. Glancing over at Lupin, England couldn't help but notice the venomous glare being pointed at the new professor by Snape, the Potions Master. _Bad blood, I see. They look about the same age, so they were probably in school together._ He resolved to ask Albus about it later.

"As to our second appointment," said Dumbledore once the lukewarm applause had died down. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

The applause this time was much louder, especially from the Gryffindor table. The Slytherins, on the other hand, weren't looking nearly so pleased. One pale blond boy in particular was glaring at Hagrid and muttering conspiratorially with his much more muscular neighbours. Hagrid, for his part, was red in the face and staring down at his hands, but there was definitely a grin hidden in that great black beard.

It took a bit longer for this applause to die down, but die down it did, at which point Albus said, "And, lastly, our History of Magic teacher, Professor Binns, shall be taking a few years off in order to travel." He paused as there was excited tittering amongst the students. _Albus really wasn't kidding about how unpopular he is. _The headmaster gestured to England and continued. "Professor Kirkland has agreed to take over the post until he returns."

The applause was somewhere between the ones that had greeted Lupin and Hagrid in enthusiasm. The students didn't know him as well as they knew Hagrid, but they were obviously happy to have someone replacing Professor Binns, even if it was only temporary. As the applause was dying down, someone at the Gryffindor table let out a wolf-whistle. There was a lot of giggling, and England glared at America, who met his gaze with a look of one hundred percent faked innocence. England decided to let it go, sighing and shaking his head as he turned his attention back to Albus.

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," he said. "Let the feast begin!" And suddenly food was on the tables. It was delicious, of course. Just as delicious as it had been when England had attended Hogwarts. The house elves must have still been using Helga Hufflepuff's recipes. Say what you will about the calibre of students in her house, that woman had been an extremely good cook. England tried to relish every second, because he knew that once the feast was over he'd have to take America and Canada aside and talk to them about the Dementors.

Far too soon, however, the plates cleared themselves and all the students began getting out of their seats and heading out the doors. America and Canada went with their friends to congratulate Hagrid, so it saved England the trouble of having to push through the crowd to reach them. As it was he simply had to sidestep some teachers to reach them. They saw him coming, of course. "Hey, Iggy!" said America. "I hope you do better than Binns, 'cause that guy was _lame._"

"Alfred, Matthew, we need to talk," said England.

America's happy expression flickered, and he sighed. "Oh, _fiiine_. See ya dudes in a bit, kay?" he said to his friends as he and Canada followed England out of the hall and into the nearest empty classroom.

America glared at him as he cast some wards on the door. "You want to talk about the Dementor, eh?" said Canada.

"Yes," said England as he finished the last of his spells to ensure they weren't overheard. He turned back to the twins. "I understand that you probably just want to forget it ever happened- believe me, I do – but keeping this bottled up inside will only make things worse." America and Canada remained silent, so he continued. "All right, how about this; I'll guess what happened, and you tell me if I'm right." They still didn't say anything. "I'll take that as a yes. You lost consciousness almost immediately. You felt cold, cold in the very core of your being. You saw flashes of a lot of horrible memories – war, famine, plagues, stuff like that. Then, at the end, you relived a particularly awful one, one that you would probably say was the single worst thing that ever happened to you. Am I right?"

America had his back turned, but he let out a grunt that sounded vaguely affirmative. Canada nodded, taking his glasses off to rub at his eyes and sniffing. England handed him a handkerchief and said, "You don't have to tell me what that last vision was, but it might help."

America remained facing away from them while Canada blew his nose and put his glasses back on. "I… I guess it might, eh," he murmured. "Just promise not to be offended, all right?"

England nodded, trying not to let the apprehension swelling in his chest show in his expression. "I promise."

Canada closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said somewhat hurriedly, "I saw France giving me over to you, back when I was little." He opened his eyes again, watching England for his reaction.

"Ah." England wasn't sure what to say. That apprehension he'd been feeling was replaced by roiling guilt. He'd known Canada had been upset about being separated from France, and in hindsight he could have made the transition much easier for the boy, but he hadn't thought it would be one of Canada's absolute worst memories. "I'm… sorry." Those words seemed to be completely insufficient, but they were the best he could think of at the moment.

"It's okay, eh," said Canada, giving him a small smile. "I'll be fine. I just… need some time."

"Of course." England turned to America. "America…"

He still didn't turn around as he said coldly, "I don't want to talk about it."

England sighed. "America, this isn't something you can just ignore until it goes away."

"Oh, yeah? Watch me."

"You'll feel better once you talk about it," murmured Canada.

"No I won't!" America stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard a large crack appeared on its surface.

England repaired the door with a wave of his wand. "I think Texas was involved somehow," said Canada. England stared at him. "His bad memory," the northern nation elaborated. "When he woke up he threw his glasses at the wall and refused to put them back on. Those glasses represent Texas, so…"

England stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I hadn't noticed… maybe it had something to do with the Republic?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it," said Canada. "She was fine with giving up her nationhood. It was sad, but I don't think it would have qualified as his worst memory." He looked down at his watch. "It's getting pretty late, eh. Kumamio is probably waiting for me in the common room. I'll talk to him about it next time I see him." He paused in the doorway and looked back. "And, really, I'll be fine. I don't blame you at all." He gave England a smile that would have fooled anyone who hadn't known him nearly all his life and left.

**A/N: I'll tell you guys next chapter, I promise! Pinky swear! At this point I'm getting as frustrated as you. Okay, probably not, but I'm still pretty frustrated. On the plus side, I've had time to look up some info on the annexation of Texas, and I think it would be an interesting Hetalia story. "Hey, America, marry me and take me away from that meanie Mexico!" "Do I have to, dude?" "Yup, your boss said so!" "Ugh, ****_fine_****." "Yay!" HUGS \\(^-^)/ Now for Q&amp;A! To RussianMochi: Good to know! I'm not saying whether you're right or wrong, but it's good to know! All the states and provinces having their own personifications would be neat, but it would be too complicated for me to write in this story. But if you're interested in a NYC personification, go read my Twilight/Hetalia fic! Shameless self-promotion aside, I don't mind rants. I don't have anyone to talk about Hetalia with, either. To freyiejj: Spoilers! And I don't quite remember where the idea came from. Maybe somebody suggested it and I thought, 'Hey, that's actually a good idea'? To SoulxMakaLover37: I dunno how Time-Turners work. At the very least Fiendfyre would cause some serious damage. America would be disappointed that Scottish merpeople don't look like Ariel. The state of Texas is fine. To Marzue: GAH STOP SUGGESTING THINGS PEOPLE I STILL HAVEN'T READ HUNGER GAMES! NEXT CHAPTER: America has a nightmare. See you all next time!**


	7. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX: FRECKLES**

_The sun was overrated, America decided as he forced water down his parched throat and dumped the rest of the canteen on his head. It only brought a temporary reprieve from the heat, but that was enough for him. Seriously, why did people enthuse about sunny, beautiful days so much? Considering how many of his soldiers had passed out from heatstroke, the sun had almost claimed more casualties than the actual battle._

_ "I hope you realize how many of our men would have killed for that water you just wasted," said a voice behind him._

_ America turned around and shrugged. "I thought I'd treat myself, General. I mean, this is a time for celebration, right?"_

_ The General's expression remained serious, but his tone wasn't nearly as stern as usual as he said, "I suppose it is. Just make sure you're prepared for all the paperwork waiting for you back in Washington."_

_ America groaned. "Dude, did you have to remind me of that? I'd almost forgotten about it. Uh, sir."_

_ The General had long since started ignoring his country's odd speech patterns. "Sadly, that is not all I wished to discuss. _He _has asked to speak with you." Judging from the way he nearly spat out the word and his eyes flared, forgiveness was nowhere on the horizon for the General._

_ America blinked. "What, seriously? I figured he'd never want to see my face again."_

_ "Evidently that's not the case. He's still where you left him." With that the General went off to speak with a nearby pair of sergeants._

_ Still reeling from surprise, America made his way to a hill a ways from the encampment. Indeed, the figure standing there hadn't moved an inch. It was a tiny figure, that of a boy far too young to be anywhere near a battlefield. Even by human standards he was barely more than a toddler. But he wasn't human, and many of his kind had to pick up a weapon and start fighting for their lives from the day of their birth. A harried-looking nurse was speaking quietly with him, and three soldiers in Confederate uniforms seemed to be standing guard around him. As soon as they noticed America one of the soldiers whispered something to the boy. The boy must have said something back, because the soldiers saluted, the nurse curtsied, and they all hurried off._

_ America tried not to let the oppressive awkwardness of the situation get him down. "Hey, South!" he said, trying and failing to sound casual. "So I heard you wanted to talk?"_

_ South let out a suspiciously wet-sounding cough. He seemed to recover quickly and asked, in a voice so authoritative one could almost forget how high-pitched it was, "Are they gone?"_

_ America looked at the retreating backs of the soldiers and nurse. "Yup, they should be well out of earshot by now."_

_ "Good." The sudden shake in his voice was enough to snap his brother's attention right back to him. The younger nation started coughing again, falling to his knees, and for the first time America noticed that the grass at his feet was stained red._

_ "South!" America's legs couldn't seem to move fast enough as he ran to South's side. His stomach plummeted as he saw that the injuries from the battle – injuries _he _had inflicted – were still as open and bloody as they had been when the boy surrendered. "W-why aren't you healing?!"_

_ South gave him an annoyed look, the kind he always gave when his older brother said or did something he thought was idiotic. "Because, North, in case you hadn't noticed, you won," he explained, before another coughing fit seized him. He covered his mouth with his hand, but that didn't disguise the blood that seeped through his fingers._

_ America felt sick. "W-what is that supposed to mean, bro? I've won wars before, but they never…" His vision was becoming blurry, and somehow he knew it wasn't just because of the tears that were starting to fall. He moved a bit so that he was kneeling in front of South, putting one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek. "C-come on, little brother, stay with me. You're n-not gone yet… your president is still walking f-free, we've still got all that paperwork to go through before you're…"_

_ "Dissolved?" South collapsed against America, the effort of even kneeling apparently becoming too great. "Officially, sure," he almost whispered into his shoulder, his glasses digging through the uniform and into America's skin. "Unofficially, I'm dead as a doornail." He gave a tremor and let out a whimper. America instinctively wrapped an arm around him. _God, he's so tiny… did he honestly think he could ever win?

_ "Shh, don't talk," America whispered into his hair. "Just focus on staying awake, a-all right? You're gonna be fine… you gotta be…" _I can't have killed you… I can't…

_ South pushed against his chest until he was looking into his eyes. His usually tanned skin had gone almost white. With a shaking hand, he took off his too-large glasses. "I think you'll need these back," he said, placing them on America's nose. "Texas is yours again. Congratulations." America blinked a few times, his eyes readjusting. His vision was suddenly much less blurry. In fact, it was clear enough to see…_

_ America laughed. He knew he shouldn't have, he really shouldn't, and it didn't stop the tears from coming, but he couldn't help it. "You've got freckles," he said. He'd never noticed it before. He supposed South's tan had hidden them, and with that gone..._

_ South stared at him in amazement. "I'm dying, and that's what you say." He smiled ever so slightly, though the effect was diminished by the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. "Damyankee…"_

_ America shrugged. "What can I say? I'm an idiot." South's eyes began to droop, and he fell forward again. Any mirth he'd felt vanished as he realized his brother didn't have much longer left. "I… I love you, South. You know that, right? I… always loved you, I just… didn't agree with you, y-you know?"_

_ America could have sworn he could feel South smile. "Love you, too, idiot," he whispered so faintly America nearly didn't hear it. A moment later he went very still, and he was…_

"NO!" America sat bolt upright, heart hammering in his chest and breath coming in huge gulps. For a few moments he lingered in that state of confusion that follows waking up from a dream. _Where am I? Who am I? When am I? Why do I feel so small? _Then everything came back to him. _Right. I'm at Hogwarts, I'm pretending to be a thirteen-year-old wizard, it's 1993._

It seemed his shout had woken up his dorm-mates. "Wha's goin' on?" asked Ron sleepily.

America faked a smile, even though the others wouldn't be able to see his expression in the darkness. "Sorry, bad dream," he said brightly. "Nothing to worry about. Night, dudes!" He lay back down and pretended to be trying to go back to sleep. In reality, there was no way he was risking having to relive that again. The others were glad to return to their sleep, but just to be safe America waited until Neville had been snoring for five minutes before he started to cry.

**A/N: There you go, you finally have your answer! Yes, it was the Civil War. Congratulations to those of you who guessed right! Here, have a cookie. (::) And, for everyone, HUGS! \\(^-^)/ Please forgive any horrible historical inaccuracies. Now for Q&amp;A! To WhiteWaggishFox: England didn't notice all the doe-eyed looks he was getting from the girls. America did, and decided to do what they all obviously wanted to. Plus, you know, messing with England. No Dementor punching yet, sadly. To Marzue: Sorry about that. I'm just really bad about remembering to read/watch things that are suggested to me. Everyone does seem to agree that the original Hunger Games was the best. To Natekleh: Yeah, it's just Dumbledore that knows. Not that none of the other teachers are a bit suspicious of them. NEXT CHAPTER: Harry and friends have their first Divination lesson. See you all next time!**


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN: FORESHADOWING 101**

As they headed down to breakfast next day, Harry couldn't help but keep a close eye on Alfred. He'd put in his contacts, so at least he could see where he was going, though they seemed to be uncomfortable and he made them promise to stop him from rubbing at his eyes. He seemed more chipper than he'd been last night as he talked with them about their new classes, but whenever there was a lull in the conversation he got a worryingly far-away look in his eyes. And that wasn't even getting into the crying Harry had heard last night…

With some difficulty, Harry spotted Matthew walking at the back of a group of Hufflepuffs in the Entrance Hall. He hurried over to him and said, "Matthew, I'd like a word."

He didn't seem surprised, his eyes darting over to Alfred. "All right." The two of them went to a secluded corner and the Canadian said, "You want to know what happened to Alfred, eh?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Whatever it was, he's not dealing with it well."

Matthew sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, but I don't know. He wouldn't say last night, and I doubt he's changed his mind already. Arthur and I think we have some idea, but there's just so much…" His voice faltered. He cleared his throat and began again. "Don't needle him too much about it, eh. You're a good friend, but this is… personal. He can't tell you."

"Can't?" asked Harry. "Don't you mean won't?"

"Well, I suppose he is physically capable of telling you," admitted Matthew. "But he just… can't, okay? Arthur and I are the only ones he can talk to about this."

Harry was for some reason suddenly reminded that Alfred hadn't been the only one to pass out. "How are you holding up, Matthew?" he asked.

Matthew seemed surprised, but he recovered quickly and gave him a small smile. "I'm okay, eh. Thanks for asking." He gestured to the Great Hall. "We'd better go get some food before it disappears."

The first thing Harry saw when he walked in was Draco Malfoy entertaining a large group of Slytherins with what seemed to be a very funny story. As he passed, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit and there was a roar of laughter.

"Dudes, you know how sometimes people just start ignoring me for some reason?" said Alfred as Harry approached the Gryffindor table. They all nodded. "I get it now."

"Hey, Potter!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug. "Potter! The Dementors are coming, Potter! _Woooooooo!_"

Harry dropped into a seat next to George Weasley. "New third-year timetables," he said, passing them over. "What's up with you, Harry?"

"I'd say that pale asshole over there, dude," said Alfred, pointing at Malfoy with his fork.

George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again. "That little git," he said calmly. "He wasn't so cocky last night when the Dementors were down our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn't he, Fred?"

"Nearly wet himself," said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.

"I wasn't too happy myself," said George. "They're horrible things, those Dementors…"

"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" said Fred.

"DUDES, THIS BACON IS AWESOME!" shouted Alfred, looking a bit pale.

"Come on, Alfred, don't worry about it," said George, punching him playfully in the arm. "Dementors are awful for everyone. Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he'd ever been. He came back all weak and shaking… They suck the happiness out of a place, Dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there." Alfred didn't look very reassured by this.

"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match," said Fred, sensing the need for a change in subject. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?"

The thought of Malfoy getting crushed again perked up both Harry and Alfred. Harry helped himself to sausages and fried tomatoes, and Alfred's smile regained some authenticity. Hermione was examining her new timetable. "Oh, good, we're starting some new subjects today," she said happily.

"Hermione," said Ron, frowning as he looked over her shoulder. "They've messed up your timetable. Look – they've got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn't enough _time_. And-" He looked over at Alfred's. "You've got the same thing happening!"

"Dude, don't worry about it," said the American. Or, at least, Harry hoped that was what he said. His mouth was rather full.

Hermione looked at him reproachfully and said, "We'll manage. We've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."

"But look," said Ron, laughing. "See today? Nine o'clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o'clock, Arithmancy. I mean, I know you're good, Hermione, but nobody's _that _good, and even if you are, Alfred definitely isn't."

"Hey!"

"How're you supposed to be in two classes at once?"

Hermione refused to give a straight answer, and Alfred seemed to actively enjoy being as vague and evasive as possible, giving answers such as "Do or do not, there is no try." and "We'll just reverse the polarity of the neutron flow." This line of questioning was only interrupted by Hagrid, who also didn't answer any questions about what he was planning for Care of Magical Creatures.

They ended up leaving the Great Hall a bit earlier than usual, since they wanted to give themselves time to find the Divination classroom. Alfred seemed to be back to his usual self when they came across Sir Cadogan, and actually tried to grab a sword from a nearby suit of armour in order to duel the painting. Luckily Harry and Ron had managed to stop him, but the very fact that he wanted to do something that stupid was very reassuring.

Eventually they arrived at their destination, but not before Alfred and Sir Cadogan declared themselves comrades-in-arms for the cause of justice. They climbed up through the trapdoor into the classroom, which was probably the strangest one Harry had ever seen. The teacher was nowhere to be seen, however.

"Where is she?" Ron said.

A voice came suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice. "Welcome," it said. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last." Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight, and Alfred groaned and muttered something about 'damn hippies'. "Sit, my children, sit," she said, and they all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or sank onto pouffes. Harry, Ron, Alfred and Hermione sat themselves around the same round table.

"Welcome to Divination," said Professor Trelawney, who had seated herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire. "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye." Nobody said anything in answer to this extraordinary pronouncement. Alfred was looking very bored and Harry had to stop him from scratching at his eyes. Professor Trelawney delicately rearranged her shawl and continued, "So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can take you only so far in this field…"

Harry, Ron and Alfred all glanced, grinning, at Hermione, who looked startled at the news that books wouldn't be much help in this subject. Professor Trelawney continued in the same manner, occasionally stopping to make a prediction regarding a random student. She explained to them the procedure to divine the future from tea leaves, and told them to divide into pairs and see what they could see. Harry ended up paired with Alfred, while Ron and Hermione puzzled over their own at the next table.

"All right, dude, what do you see?" asked Alfred, not sounding very hopeful.

"A load of soggy brown stuff," said Harry. The heavily perfumed smoke in the room was making him feel sleepy and stupid.

"Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" Professor Trelawney cried through the gloom.

Harry tried to pull himself together. "Right, looks like you've got… either two birds or two airplanes…" he said, consulting _Unfogging the Future. _"There's nothing in here about airplanes, so I'll go with birds… which means you'll get 'profound or exciting news'." He turned the cup. "And this looks like… is that a donkey or an elephant? I can't tell…" He consulted the book again. "If it's a donkey, it means 'stubbornness and stamina', which knowing you is pretty fitting, but if it's an elephant it means 'be patient, you will be supported with kindness'."

"So if we combine all those, the teacup is telling me I'm gonna need to wait around for some important news. Real help, there, dude," said Alfred to the teacup. "My turn…" He peered into Harry's teacup. "Okay… there's a blob there that kind of looks like a fancy hat, and that means 'you will experience a change in roles or business success'." He flipped it around. "This way it looks more like an acorn, though, which means 'a windfall, unexpected gold'. So I guess you're gonna get really rich. Well, more rich." He turned the cup again. "This is some kind of animal… if that's it head… a hippo? No, a sheep… GRAAAH THIS IS STUPID!" He slammed the cup down on the table. "WHY ARE WE LETTING FRGGING _LEAVES _DICTATE OUR LIVES, DUDES?!"

Professor Trelawney whirled around. "Please, you are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations! Let me see that," she said sharply to Alfred, sweeping over and snatching Harry's cup from him. Everyone went quiet to watch. Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it anti-clockwise. "The falcon… my dear, you have a deadly enemy."

"But everyone knows _that_," said Hermione in a loud whisper. Professor Trelawney stared at her. "Well, they do. Everyone knows about Harry and You-Know-Who." Harry, Ron and Alfred stared at her with a mixture of amazement and admiration. They had never heard Hermione speak to a teacher like that before.

Professor Trelawney chose not to reply. She lowered her huge eyes to Harry's cup again and continued to turn it. "The club… an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup…"

"What? No way, dude, it's totally a hat!" said Alfred. Professor Trelawney ignored him.

"The skull… danger in your path, my dear…" Everyone was staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed. A tinkle told them Neville had smashed another cup. Professor Trelawney sank into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed. "My dear boy – my poor dear boy – no – it is kinder not to say – no – don't ask me…"

"What is it, Professor?" said Dean Thomas at once. Everyone had got to their feet, and slowly, they crowded around Harry and Alfred's table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good look at Harry's cup.

"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically. "You have the Grim."

"The what?" said Harry.

"The Grim Reaper?" asked Alfred, eyes lighting up. They weren't the only ones who didn't understand; Dean Thomas shrugged at him and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but nearly everybody else clapped their hands to their mouths in horror.

"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" cried Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked that Harry hadn't understood. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen – the worst omen – of _death_!" Harry's stomach lurched. That dog on the cover of _Death Omens _in Flourish and Blotts – the dog in the shadows of Magnolia Crescent… Lavender Brown clapped her hands to her mouth, too. Everyone was looking at Harry; everyone except Hermione, who had got up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney's chair, and Alfred, who was leaning over to look into the cup again.

"_I _don't think it looks like a Grim," she said flatly.

"Yeah, I still say it looks more like a hippo, dude," agreed Alfred.

Professor Trelawney surveyed them both with mounting dislike. "You'll forgive me for saying so, my dears, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."

Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side. "It looks like a Grim if you do this," he said, with his eyes almost shut. "But it looks more like a donkey from here," he said, leaning to the left.

"Oh, sweet, we're matching!" said Alfred brightly.

"When you've all finished deciding whether I'm going to die or not!" said Harry, taking even himself by surprise. Now, nobody seemed to want to look at him.

"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney, in her mistiest voice. "Yes… please pack away your things…"

Alfred looked extremely happy as they descended the ladder from the trapdoor. "That lady belongs at a carnival, not a school, dudes," he said. "I should have listened to Patrick, he always knows what he's talking about. Well, when it comes to alcohol, anyway. And explosives."

"Er… Alfred, I'm not sure that's the kind of person you should be listening to," said Ron, but Alfred seemed to tune him out.

**A/N: This ended up being a long one... took me a bit longer than usual to write it. But, anyway, HUGS! \\(^-^)/ Also Q&amp;A! To WhiteWaggishFox: Hmm... it's an idea. I didn't really have any plans for Poland, but he's a fun character, so maybe. To SoulxMakaLover37: Your sadness gives me joy. JK, but it is good to know that scene was effective. England's got the rest of the Magic Trio, and he and Portugal seem pretty close, and there are probably others I'm forgetting, so it's not like his fairy friends are his only friends in the world. But his embarrassing himself by talking to Flying Mint Bunny is definitely a possibility. Oh boy, that's a hard question... um... one of the Italies, so they could make me delicious pizza. NEXT CHAPTER: America goes to his first Care of Magical Creatures class. See you all next time!**


	9. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT: ATTACK OF THE EAGLE HORSE**

America was feeling pretty good as he and the Golden Trio made their way to Hagrid's for their first ever Care of Magical Creatures class. Divination had been a bust, but Arithmancy had mostly made up for it. It looked like it would be a difficult course, but that just made it a challenge, and the hero never backed down from a challenge. The time machine hadn't had as many flashing lights and cool sound effects as he'd been hoping for, but when it came to devices that could alter the flow of time you couldn't be too picky. Also contributing to his good mood was the fact that, via some miracle, the weather was actually rather pleasant.

Ron and Hermione weren't speaking to each other because Ron was being really superstitious about Harry's grim leaf hippo thingy while Hermione was being skeptical. America didn't mind all that much, though, because that just meant there was more room in the conversation for him to talk. All in all, the world seemed like a nice place for him. He was even getting used the constant low-level discomfort in his eyes from his contacts. Then he spotted three familiar silhouettes walking in front of them and the day got a lot worse. _Seriously? We're having to share with _Slytherin? _We already have Potions with them. Why couldn't we have Ravenclaw? We don't have _any _classes with Ravenclaw. They'd certainly be better than the Three Stooges._

Hagrid was waiting for his class at the door of his hut. He stood in a coat that was probably responsible for the death of an entire colony of moles, with Fang the boarhound at his heels, looking impatient to start. "C'mon, now, get a move on!" he called, as the class approached. "Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin' up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!"

America could feel the bounce in his step as he followed Hagrid with the rest of the class. He couldn't wait to see what kind of awesome monster Hagrid would introduce them to. He remembered fondly the dragon Hagrid had hatched and tried to raise back in first year, Norbert. And, sure, that giant monster the giant of a man had taken care of when he was still a Hogwarts student _had _told its children to eat him, Harry and Ron last year, but that was probably just because Hagrid hadn't raised the kids himself. And if the creature did cause trouble, the hero was ready to protect his fellow students and jump to the rescue! He might wait a bit if it went after the Slytherins first, but he'd intervene before anyone was _too _hurt.

With all this in mind, America was rather disappointed when they arrived at an empty paddock. "Everyone gather round the fence here!" Hagrid called. "That's it- make sure yeh can see. Now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books-"

"How?" America had to grab his wrist to stop himself from punching Malfoy as an automatic response to the cold, irritating sound of his voice.

"Eh?" said Hagrid.

"How do we open our books?" Malfoy repeated. He took out his copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters, _which he had bound shut with a length of rope. Other people took out theirs, too. They'd all found some way of keeping their book shut, whether it be via belt, rope, skinny bag, or bullclip. Suddenly America was very glad he'd been there when Canada figured out how to stop the book from biting his face off.

"Hasn' – hasn' anyone bin able ter open their books?" said Hagrid, looking crestfallen.

"I DID!" America thrust one hand into the air and pulled out his book with the other. It seemed to have gone wild again, trying to bite him, so he clamped it shut with one hand and stroked the spine with the other. The book shivered, then fell open and just lay silently in his hands. "They're like cats, dudes! You totally gotta show them some love before they show some back!" He neglected to mention that he'd chosen the 'slam it into the wall until it dies' method before Canada figured it out.

"Oh, how silly we've all been!" Malfoy sneered. "We should have _stroked _them! Why didn't we guess!"

"I… I thought they were funny," Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.

"Oh, tremendously funny!" said Malfoy. "Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!"

"Dude, you're taking Care of Magical Creatures," said America. "Almost getting your hands ripped off by something is totally part of the fun!" All the others gave him odd looks. "What?"

"Righ' then," said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread. "So… so yeh've got yer books an'… an'… now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I'll go an' get 'em. Hang on…" He strode away from them into the Forest and out of sight.

"God, this place is going to the dogs," said Malfoy loudly. "That oaf teaching classes, my father'll have a fit when I tell him-"

"Shut up, Malfoy," said Harry.

"Careful, Potter, there's a Dementor behind you-" That was the last straw for America. How could this little brat joke so casually about something so… so… _the sun burning his skin… '… dead as a doornail'… _Damn it… he'd been doing so well all day… His contacts suddenly seemed to be burning. He turned to Malfoy, his sole purpose in life being to beat that little asshole until he stopped moving.

The Slytherin was very lucky, therefore, that at that moment Lavender Brown squealed and pointed at something in the paddock. America remembered that he was surrounded by witnesses, and that this was Hagrid's first lesson, and that as awful as Malfoy was he was still only thirteen years old. All this served to calm him down enough to turn and return his attention to the lesson. Trotting towards them were twelve… what the hell were those things?! They looked kind of like griffins, but their back ends were those of horses, not lions. Did someone manage to breed an eagle and a horse or something?! Whatever they were, they all had thick leather collars around their necks, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.

"Gee up, there!" he roared, shaking the chains and urging the creatures towards the fence where the class stood. Everyone but America drew back slightly as Hagrid reached them and tethered the creatures to the fence. "Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily, waving a hand at them. _Well, at least I know what to call them other than 'freaky horse-eagle things'. _"Bea'iful, aren' they?" America gave them another look. Now that he'd gotten over the initial shock… well, the bald eagle was his national animal, and he'd always liked horses, so these Hippogriff things were actually pretty damn awesome.

"So," said Hagrid, rubbing his hands together and beaming around. "If yeh wan' ter come a bit nearer…" America bounded forward, leaning on the fence and admiring the nearest Hippogriff, a grey one. He wasn't a very good judge of giant eagles, but he knew a good horse when he saw one, even if it was only half of one. The Golden Trio seemed to be the only ones to follow him, and even they seemed rather cautious. "Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' Hippogriffs is they're proud," said Hagrid. "Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."

The Three Stooges seemed to be muttering darkly amongst themselves, but America was so entranced by the Hippogriffs he hardly noticed and only felt like punching them a tiny bit. "Yeh always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid continued. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk towards him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt. Right – who wants ter go first?"

America thrust his hand in the air for the second time that class, which was probably a new record. "ME! ME! HAGRID, DUDE, PICK ME! I WANNA RIDE THE EAGLE HORSES!" Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Hermione facepalm, but he put it down to his imagination. Nobody else volunteered for some reason, so America figured he had it in the bag and climbed over the fence.

"Good man, Alfred!" roared Hagrid. "Right then – let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak." He untied the grey Hippogriff, pulled it away from its fellows, and took off its collar. America waved at it, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. "Easy now, Alfred," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink – Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if ye blink too much…" Of course as soon as he said that America's contacts started bothering him again. Still, he'd said he'd do this, so he was going to do it. He made sure not to blink as Buckbeak turned to stare at him.

"Tha's it," said Hagrid. "Tha's it, Alfred… now, bow…" America had never liked bowing to anyone, but he wanted to ride the eagle horse, so he settled for a quick, rather shallow one. When he looked back up Buckbeak was staring at him haughtily and didn't move. "Ah," said Hagrid, sounding worried. "Right – back away, now, Alfred, easy does it-"

But then the eagle horse suddenly bent his scaly front knees, and sank into what was unmistakeably a bow. America held his arms in a V for victory and cheered. "Well done, Alfred!" said Hagrid, ecstatic. "Right- yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!" America started approaching Buckbeak directly, but centuries of experience with horses made him subconsciously swerve so that he approached from the side. He patted the creature's beak and stroked his feathers. Buckbeak closed his eyes lazily to show that he enjoyed it.

The class broke into applause, except for the Three Stooges, but their approval would probably kill the good mood for America. "Righ' then, Alfred," said Hagrid. "I reckon he migh' let yeh ride him!"

"SWEET! HAGRID, DUDE, YOU'RE THE BEST!" America mounted up with no trouble and settled behind the wing joint. He looked for something to hold onto.

"Mind yeh don' pull any of his feathers out, he won' like that," said Hagrid. Just about everything within reach seemed to be covered in feathers. "Go on, then!" Hagrid slapped Buckbeak's hindquarters, and America barely had time to wrap his arms as far around the eagle horse's neck as he could before he took off.

America didn't have that much experience riding broomsticks, but from what he could remember it was almost nothing like riding an eagle horse. The wings beating made his seat feel rather precarious, not helped by how its hindquarters kept going up and down, and the feathers seemed far too slippery to get a good grip without risking pulling some out. But America had always found there was nothing quite like the feel of using a real, living creature as transportation. You could feel it breathe, feel the muscles moving as it moved its legs or, in this case, wings. Their little trip was rather short, just a single lap around the paddock, and before America knew it they were heading back down to the ground. He nearly fell off when they landed, but that was just part of the fun. With one last pat on Buckbeak's neck America dismounted.

"Good work, Alfred!" roared Hagrid. _He's roaring a lot today, isn't he? Did he swallow a lion or something? _ Everyone except the Three Stooges were cheering. America gave a theatrical bow before heading back to the Golden Trio. "OK, who else wants a go?"

Inspired by the hero's brilliant example, the rest of the class climbed cautiously into the paddock. Soon enough there was so much bowing going on America wondered if he'd been magically transported to Japan again. America decided to hang back and watch, fighting the urge to rub at his eyes. He'd almost forgotten why he never wore these things…

The Three Stooges were interacting with Buckbeak. America was rather disappointed when the eagle horse bowed back to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak and looking disdainful. "This is very easy," he drawled, loud enough for America to hear. "I knew it must have been, if Jones could do it… I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" he said to Buckbeak. "Are you, you ugly great brute?"

Then there was a flash of steely talons, Malfoy had to be taken to the hospital wing, and the general consensus became that the lesson could have gone better.

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is a bit late, I had writer's block. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \\(^-^)/ And congratulations to those who recognized what the donkey and elephant were referencing. Now for Q&amp;A! To freyiejj &amp; Crossover Junkie: Your questions were very similar, so I just lumped you two together. Muggle Studies would be a good way for Canada to get caught up on anything he missed, so there will probably be at least one scene set there. Arithmancy would be a bit trickier... I'll see what I can do! To RussianMochi: Oh, I see. That's fine! I don't know much about Lent, so I'll just say that I hope it accomplishes whatever it's supposed to for you! To TheChibitalian: I'd have to go with the Irish dullahan. It's just so awesome and terrifying at the same time! And I gave your story a read, and I think it's pretty interesting so far! Sorry I didn't give a review, but I figured I'd just tell you here that I liked it. To Marzue: It's an interesting concept, but it seems like extra work, so for now let's just say America's fine with time travel. To MeoTheRandom: Yes, enjoy those Oreos, you earned them. And I did consider including France in that list, but England's feelings toward him seem too complicated to be described simply as 'like'. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada has his first History of Magic lesson. See you all next time!**


	10. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE: A BRIEF HISTORY OF BURNING**

It was only the second day of classes, and already Canada was so worried he was starting to get a stomach ache. America had told him all about Hagrid's disastrous first lesson at dinner the previous night, and though he'd mostly just talked about his own little adventure with Buckbeak, Canada was able to infer that Hagrid would most likely be completely demoralized. On the bright side, so long as Malfoy was playing up his injuries and staying in the hospital wing, he wasn't in class bothering everyone else.

Another cause for worry was America. He was still wearing his contacts in spite of how obviously uncomfortable they were, and every time someone noted the absence of his glasses he got a strange facial twitch. His eyes were a bit bloodshot, though judging by the equally faint dark circles under his eyes he could just not be sleeping well, which was another bad thing. He seemed to be back to his old cheerful self for the most part, but the way he'd sometimes stare off into the distance with a miserable expression spoke volumes. Canada had spoken with him at breakfast with the intent of asking what was wrong, but his expression when Canada tried to steer the conversation towards the Dementor made him back off immediately.

And then there was Canada himself. He was trying his best to put the feelings the Dementor had stirred up behind him, but he was struggling. It had been centuries ago, after all. If someone had asked him just last week what it was like to be handed over to England he would have said it was difficult, but he had adapted and almost never thought about it nowadays. If someone were to ask him that question today, however, he probably would have gone a bit pale and tried to change the subject. It was as if the Dementor had ripped open a wound that had long since scabbed over, and now it was bleeding as much as when it was first inflicted.

All these things were whirling around Canada's head as he and his fellow Hufflepuffs headed to their first History of Magic class of the term. He really didn't want to have to face England at the moment, partly due to his failure to find out what was troubling America and partly due to the pang of fear in his heart every time he laid eyes on the older nation. The logical, adult part of his mind knew that it was ridiculous, and he could trust England, but the emotional, child-like part couldn't forget all the scary stories France had told about him and how intimidating and unapproachable he had seemed when Canada was a child. To make matters worse, the Hufflepuffs in his year shared History of Magic with the Slytherins. At least Malfoy wasn't around to ruin yet another new teacher's first lesson.

Upon entering the classroom, Canada made a beeline for a seat at the very back. He opened his copy of _A History of Magic _and propped it up so that it was blocking his view of England, who was sitting at his desk going through some papers. He hugged Kumacaius to his chest and tried his very best to be invisible, and must have succeeded because a Slytherin whose name escaped him tried to sit on him. Hannah Abbott, a very nice girl and probably the closest thing Canada had to a friend in Hufflepuff, ended up sitting next to him, though apparently this was an accident because she smashed her ink bottle when he said hello.

Once everyone was settled, England cleared his throat loudly for attention. The class went quiet, even the Slytherins. Canada closed his book and laid it back down on the desk, but kept his eyes fixed on Kumayuki's head. The first thing England did was take attendance. Canada still refused to make eye contact as he raised his hand and said "Here, eh" when his name was called, and though England said nothing Canada got the feeling he was making a mental note of it. The only time Canada looked up was when England called out, "Malfoy, Draco."

Pansy Parkinson, a very unpleasant Slytherin girl, put up her hand. "He's in the hospital wing, Professor Kirkland," she said. "He was mauled by a rogue Hippogriff yesterday."

England sighed, monstrous eyebrows drawing together in a frown. "Yes, I've received a note from Madam Pomfrey excusing him from class." He clearly wasn't happy about this fact. "Though from what I've heard from both her and Professor Hagrid, his injuries – oh, wait, I'm sorry, injury, singular, was not all that severe and easily healed. Until he chooses to grace us with his presence, I expect his fellow Slytherins to make sure he keeps up, or else I'll have to deduct house points." The Slytherins all exchanged surprised and mutinous looks. That clearly wasn't the response they'd been hoping for. Canada couldn't help but smile even as he lowered his gaze once again when England continued down the list.

Once he had ascertained that Malfoy was the only one missing, England put down his quill, got to his feet and walked to the podium where Binns used to give his lectures. "Now, I believe you have all written essays on witch burnings in the fourteenth century over the course of the summer, yes?" There was a general murmur of affirmation and rustling as people reached to pull them out of their bags. "Excellent. Mr. Macmillan, would you please collect them and bring them up here?" Ernie Macmillan, who was something of a teacher's pet, jumped to his feet and eagerly began collecting essays. Canada barely had time to place his own on the pile before it was dashed away.

Once that was finished, England quickly rifled through them. "Hmm… I'll have to wait 'til later to mark them correctly, but I can already see some rather major mistakes. For instance, Mr. Goyle, the witch burnings were Muggles attempting to burn witches and wizards, not witches and wizards attempting to burn Muggles." He paused. "Well, for the most part, but that is a discussion for later. And this was supposed to be about the fourteenth century, Mr. Crabbe, not the fourth. Christianity was only just becoming legal back then." He put the essays down. "Also, though it wasn't in the grading outline, I should point out that only one of you noted that most of the people accused of witchcraft were actually Muggles, and that their deaths should not be disregarded." Canada looked up, surprised. _Really? Did nobody else think of that?_ The Hufflepuffs seemed to look rather guilty, but the Slytherins were completely unashamed. If anything, they seemed confused by the notion that they should care about Muggles dying. Blaise Zabini raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Zabini?"

"Are you pureblood?" the Slytherin asked suspiciously. The rest of his housemates went quiet, obviously wanting to hear the answer.

England narrowed his eyes at him. "That question is completely irrelevant to the topic, Mr. Zabini, so I don't feel the need to answer it. Now, as I was saying-" Susan Bones, who had been doing nothing but stare dreamily at England since sitting down, raised her hand. England sighed. "Yes, Miss Bones?"

"Are you married, sir?"

That question certainly had a larger effect. Most of the girls suddenly started giggling, while the boys, Canada included, rolled their eyes. England stared at her blankly, mouth opening and closing a few times. He looked as if his brain had short-circuited. After a few moments he seemed to recover, coughed, and said in a rather high-pitched voice, "P-please ask only questions relating to the current subject. Now, as I was saying…"

For the first time in Canada's Hogwarts experience, nobody fell asleep during the History of Magic class. England followed the same general format as Binns, a.k.a. lecturing, but he did stop to answer questions and his lecture was much more engaging. Canada supposed that raising as many colonies as he had meant England had a lot of experience in teaching young people. Managing to drill some sort of education into the likes of America and Australia stood as a testament to his educational prowess. The lesson itself was mostly a review of things they had probably already learned in writing their essay, but there were still a few facts that Canada hadn't found or had forgotten. And, just to cement the good impression, they weren't given any homework, apart from a suggestion to study up on anything they'd missed out on. The rest of the class was obviously relieved, thinking England would be a laid-back teacher. Canada got the feeling he was just going easy on them for their first lesson, and once they got further into the term they'd be receiving a mountain of homework after every class.

Still, despite all this, Canada was glad when the bell rang and he could pack up his things and leave. Having England as a teacher had reminded him too much of his early days in the British Empire, when he was struggling to learn English and couldn't understand most of what was going on around him. If he had to face him now, he'd probably say something he'd regret. He'd almost made it to the door when England called out, "Matthew, wait a moment."

_Maple leaf. _ Heaving a huge sigh, Canada stepped to the side and waited for everyone to leave. A few of his classmates gave him curious looks, and he was suddenly reminded of the fact that he hadn't told his housemates about his connection with their new teacher. It was little wonder they were curious about why a stranger would want to talk to him. Hannah was the last one out, and shot him a worried look. Canada gave her his most reassuring smile and closed the door behind her. He looked down at Kumahero, who gave him a reaffirming nod, took a deep breath, and turned to look at England.

The island nation was leaning against a desk, eyeing him critically. Canada struggled to suppress a shiver. "Still no luck on the Alfred front?" he asked.

Canada shook his head. "No. Sorry, eh. He seems to be doing better, though."

England ran a hand down his face. "That's good, I suppose…" He tapped a finger against the desk and stared at the floor. "Matthew, I…" He sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. I just wanted to… I mean…" He rubbed his forehead. "Forget it. Go catch up with the others. You don't want to be late for lunch."

Canada nodded, picked up Kumakiwi, and headed out into the hallway. He knew that there was no way England would have held him back just to ask a single question, but he also knew that England could be an emotionally stunted idiot with no idea how to say what he was feeling, so really that interaction wasn't all that strange.

**A/N: Sorry this is late! Writer's block is awful. HAVE A HUG, EVERYONE! \\(^-^)/ Okay, time for Q&amp;A! To SilentMoonLace13: OMNOMNOMNOM! Oh, that's too bad, I hope you get a new one soon! As for the question... oh, God, I can't decide! I want them all to get out of there! Um... uh... Russia and China! (chosen completely at random) To A Random Duck: I'll try my best! Maybe putting Canada in Hufflepuff wasn't such a good idea... ah, well, c'est la vie. Um... I guess I'd kill Prussia (sorry, but you're already not technically a nation, so...), kiss France (he strikes me as being an excellent kisser), and marry Spain (he's just so nice and cheerful!). Sorry I didn't answer everything, I'm feeling kinda bleeaaurggh. NEXT CHAPTER: America has his first hero class with a competent teacher. See you all next time!**


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN: I'M YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE**

When Malfoy finally waltzed back into class late Thursday morning, America was feeling so exhausted he didn't register it at first. He hadn't dared try to go back to sleep since that first night, and though he could get by with less sleep than humans it was starting to wear him down. He was staring at the instructions for the Shrinking Solution he was supposed to be making without really reading them when he heard Puggy Barkinson simper, "How is it, Draco? Does it hurt much?"

America's head snapped up and he saw Malfoy, his arm covered in bandages he probably didn't need and wearing an expression like he was some brave hero coming back from a terrible war. The comparison made America accidentally snap the handle of the knife he'd been fiddling with in two. He quickly repaired it with his wand and contented himself with merely glaring at Malfoy. If he tried anything to one of the Bat-Dude's previous students he'd probably lose Gryffindor a lot of points. That resolution started to dissolve when Malfoy said, with a brave sort of grimace, "Yeah." Then he winked at Crabbe and Goyle when Puggy had her back turned.

Once the Bat-Dude had severely underreacted to a student arriving late, Malfoy set up at the same table as America and Harry. "Sir," Malfoy called. "Sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm-"

"Jones, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," said Snape, without looking up.

America fought down the urge to cut up Malfoy himself. "Dude, there's nothing wrong with your arm," he growled.

Malfoy smirked at him. "Jones, you heard Professor Snape, cut up these roots." America started taking deep breaths as he grabbed Malfoy's roots. Wait… how was he supposed to cut them again? He couldn't remember. The instructions seemed to fit into his head like a square peg in a triangular hole. He just wanted to go to sleep… but he couldn't, not when there was every chance he'd dream about… He glared at the roots as if they'd personally offended him. He picked up his knife and began cutting them in perhaps the most violent manner possible. The resulting feeling of catharsis was quite relieving. At least until Malfoy drawled, "Professor, Jones is mutilating my roots, sir."

Then something inside America snapped and he threw his knife at Malfoy's head.

By the time he was released from Professor McGonagall's office, America had been lectured for a whole hour, lost Gryffindor sixty points, and would be serving a whole month of detention with the Bat-Dude. Part of America felt guilty about losing the points and nearly killing a kid, part of him wished he hadn't missed, and another part was too tired to care and just wanted to go to bed. When he finally made it for the tail end of lunch, Hermione lectured him a bit more on how throwing knives at people was wrong, Ron joked that he was just disappointed America had missed, and Harry mostly stayed quiet, obviously lost in thought about something.

America barely managed to get a single helping of lunch before the food vanished and they had to leave for hero class. He had to admit he was pretty excited about it. Professor Lupin seemed like an actual hero, so hopefully he would finally be able to enjoy the class. The professor wasn't there when they entered, so everyone just sat down, took out their books and stuff and chatted amongst themselves. America decided to speculate with the Golden Trio about what sort of horrible detention the Bat-Dude would come up with for him.

Harry was just bringing up the possibility of America having to taste-test poison when Professor Lupin finally entered, smiling vaguely at them all. His appearance was still rather shabby, but at least he looked like he'd had a few good meals. "Good afternoon," he said. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will only need your wands."

America grinned from ear to ear as he put away his books. The closest they'd gotten to a practical lesson was that time Glinda the Sparkly Wizard had unleashed a bunch of pixies on them, and rounding them all up had been pretty fun, so it looked like things were on the right track. "Right then," said Professor Lupin. "If you'd follow me." America was feeling more awake than he had all day. This was gonna be so awesome!

A not long walk and one interesting encounter with Peeves later, they'd arrived at the staff room. America tried not to think about the last time he'd been in there as they made their way inside. The Bat-Dude was the only one inside, sitting in an armchair and glaring at them all. Lupin followed them in and made to close the door behind him, but the Bat-Dude said, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this." He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him like the villainous villain he was. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom and Alfred Jones. I would advise you not to entrust them with anything difficult. Longbottom is useless unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear, and Jones is quite frankly a danger to everyone around him." Neville went scarlet, and Harry was glaring daggers at the Bat-Dude on their behalf. America tried to glare at him, too, but couldn't quite pull it off. What he had said wasn't exactly completely inaccurate…

Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows. "I was hoping that Neville and Alfred would assist me with the first stage of the operation," he said. "And I am sure they will perform it admirably." Neville went even redder, and America grinned again. Snape's lip curled, but he left without another word, shutting the door with a snap.

"Now, then," said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class towards the wardrobe America, Harry and Ron had hidden in the last time they were in this room. America nearly faltered. The memories in that wardrobe weren't good ones. He managed to keep going without skipping a beat. He did, however, pause when the wardrobe gave a sudden violent wobble. "Nothing to worry about," said Lupin calmly. "There's a Boggart in there."

America was confused. "Humphrey Bogart? Isn't he dead?" His eyes widened and he backed away. "It-it isn't his ghost, is it? I can't deal with a ghost Rick Blaine, dude!"

"It isn't the ghost of Humphrey Bogart," said Lupin, sounding both reassuring and confused. "It's a magical creature. Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks – I once met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third-years some practice. So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what _is _a Boggart?"

_Not an acclaimed actor, apparently. _ Hermione knew the correct answer, of course. "It's a shape-shifter. It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed like Rudolph's nose. America, on the other hand, just felt uneasy. _The shape of whatever frightens us most? That sounds freaking scary. Why are they letting a bunch of kids deal with it? Maybe they figure most of us haven't encountered anything to really be scared of yet… _ If that was their thinking, it certainly didn't apply to America. The rest of Lupin's explanation didn't help matters. _Okay, so large numbers help… hopefully that means I won't have to deal with it. Wait, what am I saying? I'm the hero! I can face anything! Except ghosts… I hope it doesn't turn into a ghost. Oh, crap, it's going to turn into a ghost, isn't it? Laughter is how to defeat it? How am I supposed to laugh at my greatest fear?!_

He rather mechanically repeated the incantation along with the rest of the class. "Good," said Professor Lupin. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where one of you comes in, Neville, Alfred. Which of you would like to volunteer?"

America never thought he would turn down the chance to face down a monster, but if the Boggart turned into… not a ghost, his secret could come crashing down. "Sorry, dude," he muttered to Neville as he pushed the trembling boy forward. "You get to be hero this time!" He felt bad for the kid, but when an ancient secret like this was in danger of being revealed, sacrifices had to be made.

Neville mumbled a lot and was more shaken than one of James Bond's drinks, but at least he made them all laugh at the mental image of the Bat-Dude in a ridiculous granny outfit. "If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to turn his attention to each of us in turn," said Professor Lupin once Neville understood the procedure. "I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…"

_Yeah, sure, make a joke out of your greatest fear, shouldn't be that hard. _America mulled over what form the Boggart would take. _It'll probably be a ghost. Everyone knows I'm scared of ghosts. So, what should I imagine it as… hmm… oh, I'll just turn it into one of those lazy bedsheet ghosts! Yeah, that'll do it! _The wardrobe shook again, as if responding to his thought. He couldn't help but remember the last time he'd been in here, when he'd hid in that wardrobe and heard that Canada had been dragged down to the Chamber of Secrets… when he'd been in serious danger of losing his brother… _blood staining the dry grass… "In case you hadn't noticed, you won"… _No, no, no, it was going to be a ghost. Yup, nothing but a super scary ghost that would become a bedsheet with holes in it. No doubt about it.

"Everyone ready?" said Professor Lupin. Everyone nodded and rolled up their sleeves. _Yup, definitely just a ghost. Possibly that Humphrey Bogart ghost I mentioned earlier. That would definitely be the scariest thing that Boggart could possibly look like for me. Yes, sir._

Before he knew it the door to the wardrobe was open and the practical lesson truly began. Everyone took it in turns to face the Boggart, and everyone seemed to deal with it pretty well. America made sure to stay near the back of the group. He wasn't scared, he just didn't want anyone to feel too overshadowed by his heroism. Yes, that was it. But even all that denial didn't stop him from being frozen in place when the Boggart, currently a legless spider courtesy of Ron, rolled over to him and came to a halt at his feet.

For a single moment that seemed to go on for far too long, America felt as if he was trapped in that moment in a horror film when the music has paused for a moment as something seemingly innocuous happens to a character that you know has in fact marked his or her soul for death or something and just know the horrible monster is about to come out from nowhere and kill them and the screeching violins are going to come back in full force but it hasn't happened quite yet and dear God just happen already the suspense is killing me! Then there was a loud _crack! _and America's internal insistences that he would see a ghost were revealed for the lies they were. Deep down inside, he'd known it would be nothing but this. It didn't make it any better.

It was South, of course. The Confederate States of America. The Boggart had reached into his mind and pulled out the thing that had been haunting his nightmares sporadically for over a century and near constantly for the last few days. He didn't look like he did the last America had seen him, though. His clothes were casual, not uniform, his skin had a healthy tan, not the pallor of the dying, and his expression was one of innocent playfulness and mild annoyance, not the bitter, exhausted look he'd gained when he went to war and maintained for the rest of his short life. And, of course, he was wearing those damn glasses.

America's heart leapt into his throat. Even if on some level he'd been expecting this, he still had no idea what to do. He knew it was fake, he knew that it wasn't really South, he knew that at any moment the Boggart would probably start coughing blood or something. He knew all that and more, but if his legs hadn't felt like they'd been turned to lead he would have had a hard time restraining himself from running to the illusion and… and… doing something.

Sure enough, barely enough time had passed for America to recognize the Boggart's new form before red splotches bloomed on its shirt. It reached one shaking, sweaty, pale hand to its mouth and coughed, blood seeping between the fingers. "B-big brother…"

It was a very good thing that Professor Lupin chose that moment to intervene, or else America might have thrown up and run away right then and there. He stood in front of America and there was another _crack! _as the Boggart took another shape. America regained the ability to breathe and shakily began utilizing it. He faintly heard Lupin and Neville defeat the Boggart once and for all, but it was hard to focus on anything. His heart didn't seem to be beating properly, he was feeling light-headed, he was barely aware of what was going on around him, and he felt on the verge of fainting, or throwing up, or both. He only managed to pick up snippets of conversation.

"…five points to Gryffindor for every person…" "… Alfred, are you all right…" "… what was up with…" "… white as a sheet…" "… can you hear me…" "… looks like he's going to faint…" "ALFRED!" America was faintly aware of first his knees hitting the floor, then his shoulder, shortly followed by his head, and then he was aware of nothing for a while.

**A/N: Don't know what to say about the chapter, except that it turned out much longer than expected. HAVE A HUG, EVERYONE! \\(^-^)/ Q&amp;A time! To WhiteWaggishFox: I think that England is trying to be a calm, in-control kind of teacher, and he can deal with his own people better than other nations. It probably won't be long before he has a spazz attack and starts screaming obscenities at someone in front of the entire student body or something, though. To Marzue: We'll see... chances aren't very high, though. Sorry about that. To DarkKitsuneFluffy: Did I say that? Regardless, that is a very interesting idea... To 95Jezzica: Yeah, I imagine Canada was pretty upset with France for a while. I'd like to think France was very upset about the whole thing, though. England will probably have to face a Dementor at some point, but in my headcanon he's faced them before, so it won't be quite as bad. Doing horrible things to your favourite characters is a necessary part of being a writer! To jelis00: Well, she DID say she was married to her country, and her people seemed to really like her, so I guess I can ship that. Kind of. Once again, I am not really into the whole shipping thing. NEXT CHAPTER: England and Canada finally learn what America saw. See you all next time!**


	12. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: DIRECTIONS ARE FOR LESSER MORTALS**

England breathed a sigh of relief as the bell rang and his last class of the day, the Gryffindor first years, filed out of the room. He'd forgotten just how loud children could be. He wasn't sure who was worse, the Gryffindors with all their yammering or the Slytherins with their constant questions about his parentage. And the looks he was getting from a lot of his female students were rather worrying. Flattering, sure, but they still made him feel a bit uncomfortable. They had no idea just how ludicrously too old for them he was.

He was just organizing his things and preparing to head to dinner when there was a knock at the door and Professor Lupin poked his head in. "Kirkland, a word, please? It's about Alfred."

England breathed an entirely different kind of sigh and gestured for him to enter. "What did he do now?"

Lupin opened the door fully and walked into the room, followed closely, to England's surprise, by Snape. "It's good to know you have a realistic view of your charge's behaviour," said the Potions Master.

"He hasn't done anything wrong," said Lupin, ignoring his colleague. "I was having his class fight a Boggart, and when it was his turn he reacted… poorly."

_A Boggart. Brilliant, just what he needed less than a week after facing a Dementor. _Despite the dread now suffusing him, England did his best to remain composed. "How poorly?"

"He fainted," said Lupin simply. "He still seemed rather shaken when he woke up, so I told him to wait in my office instead of going to dinner. I was just on my way here when I ran into Severus."

Snape took up the story. "He informed me that Jones was feeling unwell, and I informed him that Jones has detention with me for throwing a knife at another student's head, and unwell or not he needs to be there."

England could feel a migraine coming on. If only the Hogsmeade apothecary sold Advil… "What did his Boggart look like?" he asked Lupin.

"It was… odd," said Lupin. "It looked like a boy, maybe four years old. At first I thought it was a younger Alfred, they looked so similar. Then he started bleeding and coughing up blood and called Alfred 'big brother'." He paused. "I… decided not to question him about it."

England slammed his hand against his forehead. "Of course! That's what it was!" _The Civil War… I'm such an idiot, how did I not guess that immediately? _ He noticed Lupin and Snape's puzzled expressions and cleared his throat awkwardly. "Er, sorry, I just figured something out. Thank you for being so considerate, Lupin. And, Snape, it would most likely be in your best interests to reschedule his detention."

Snape's expression was hewn from cold stone as he said, "My best interest, Kirkland, is to see that students are punished for their misbehaviour, no matter how unhappy they are about it."

"No, I mean if you were in an enclosed space with Alfred in his current mood for an extended period of time, he'd probably throw a knife at _your _head. And not miss." Snape glared at England and he continued, "You can give him detention tomorrow. He should feel better by then. Trying to kill his fellow classmates does deserve punishment."

"Very well," said Snape, still glaring daggers at England. "But if he isn't in my dungeon after dinner tomorrow, I will be most… displeased." Even knowing that Snape's displeasure couldn't have any real effect on him, England still had to suppress a shiver as the professor turned and walked out of the room, robes billowing dramatically.

"How does he manage to pull that off?" England wondered aloud as the door shut behind Snape. "Whenever I try it I look ridiculous and people laugh at me. Or maybe that's because Alfred or Francis or Erin or one of my brothers always trips me…" He realized he was saying all of this out loud in front of a human who was barely an acquaintance. "Er, sorry, lost my train of thought there. You said Alfred was in your office?"

Lupin nodded. "Yes, unless he's wandered off somewhere."

England chuckled. "You're joking, but that is actually a real danger. I'll see you later, then." He headed out the door and had gone down several corridors before he remembered that he didn't know where Lupin's office was. He went back to his classroom to ask for directions, but the werewolf was already gone. _Oh, f*** my life._

Without a guide or any directions, England decided to head for the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and search around that area. Now, where was that classroom again? It had been a very long time since he'd been at Hogwarts for more than a quick visit, so he wasn't entirely sure. As he made his way through the school he couldn't help but suspect that he was just choosing where to go at random. He wasn't going to ask for help, though. He was England! He once ruled over the largest empire in history! He didn't need directions, he'd figure it out on his own!

After a while that resolution began to dissolve as he realized that he had gone through the same hall three times. Goddammit, whose idea was it to make the layout of the school constantly change? Oh, right, Rowena Ravenclaw. Why did she ever think it was a good idea?! She was supposed to be the brightest witch of her age! Maybe this was her idea of a practical joke. No, actually, probably not. England remembered her as being very stern and serious, and not the kind to joke around. Whatever her reasoning, England cursed it as he ran into a dead end.

As he walked past a suit of armour that he may or may not have passed only a minute ago, he heard an all too familiar cackle behind him. "Ooooh, looks like poor ickle Artie's lost."

England swore under his breath and turned to glare at Peeves. "Shut up, I'm not lost! I'm just… um… I've been sitting down all day, I wanted to stretch my legs a bit!"

"Yes, yes, of _course _you are," crooned Peeves sarcastically. "I _completely _understand. Why don't I just hang you by your feet from a chandelier, then? That'll stretch out those legs!"

"Why are you bothering me, Peeves?" England snapped, starting to walk again. "Didn't Alistair tell you to leave me alone?"

"He said to treat you just like I'd treat anyone else," said Peeves, following him. "If he told me to leave you be, I'd dunk some water on his head because he was clearly under some sort of enchantment and needed to be broken free."

England stopped and rounded on the poltergeist. "Look, Peeves, I'm stressed out from teaching all day, I'm hungry and have probably missed dinner by this point, and I'm trying to find someone who, to be honest, I have no idea how to deal with right now, so I'm not in the mood for games. Leave me alone, or I swear I'll-"

"Fine, I'm going, I'm going!" interrupted Peeves, throwing up his hands with enough force to send him somersaulting through the air. "Al was right, you've somehow managed to become even grouchier with age. I didn't think that was possible. Congratulations!" A party horn materialized in his hand and he blew it, making the kind of squealing noise that made you want to reach through your ears and claw it out of your brain. Peeves threw the horn at England's head and went off to cause havoc elsewhere in the castle.

Once he was gone, England wondered whether he should have asked him for directions. Then he remembered that it was Peeves. The poltergeist probably would have sent him to a girl's toilet or something. _Wandering at random it is, then._

He wasn't sure how long he spent trying to find his way through the labyrinthine corridors, but apparently it was indeed long enough that he missed out on dinner, because eventually he ran into Lupin again. "Ah, Kirkland! How is Alfred doing?"

England tensed and could feel his cheeks getting warm with embarrassment. "Er… I, uh… don't know."

Lupin was clearly confused. "What do you mean?"

"I…" England coughed into his hand and rubbed the back of his head. "Oh, Lord, this is embarrassing… I, uh… don't actually know where your office is."

If England had been expecting Lupin to laugh at him (which, to be honest, he was), he was mistaken. The professor just looked guilty and embarrassed. "Oh, I am _so _sorry! I didn't realize… I do apologize for that. Have you been looking for my office all this time?"

"… Maybe."

"Well, you were very close," said Lupin. "It's the third door on the right in the hall you just left."

"What?!" England just barely managed to keep his voice below a scream. "I've been through that hall five times! How could I have missed that?! Fu-" He remembered that he wasn't alone and cut himself off before he said anything he'd punish a student for saying in his classroom. He settled for crossing his arms across his chest and silently fuming. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lupin looking at him with an almost pitying expression. England never liked being pitied. "Oh, shut up!"

"I didn't say anything," said Lupin. He looked like he was trying to suppress laughter.

"Not with your mouth, your eyes!" England realized how ridiculous that sounded. "Um… I mean… Bye." With that elegant farewell, England practically fled the scene.

**A/N: I'm sorry I'm being so late with updates lately. Writer's block seems to be laying siege to my mind. I keep looking to the east, but there's no sign of Gandalf and the Rohirrim yet. Ah, well. I'm not sure what happened with this chapter. I guess I just wanted to write some good old tsundere England shenanigans and not advance the plot at all. HUGS! \\(^-^)/ and Q&amp;A. To SoulxMakaLover37: You are forgiven. Angst is indeed angst. I'd pronounce it 'Wa-bud-eea-eea-ew-way-a'. Sorry, don't have much advice. Make sure to have good noise-blocking headphones, maybe? There is quite a bit of angst, isn't there? We'll see... MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! To Calistrophia: 1) I'd say Austria's is my favourite. I like how orchestral it is. 2) GERITA FOREVER! 3) Just the ones I've had to make up for this fic. Scotland, Wales, North and South Ireland, the Confederate States, and another one who should be showing up soon. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada and America have a heart-to-heart. See you all next time!**


	13. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER TWELVE: FUZZ THERAPY**

Canada stopped in front of the door to Professor Lupin's office and did a quick inventory. Food, check. Tissues, check. Small fluffy animal to hug, check. Understanding of what had happened, check. He felt reasonably confident he could make America feel at least a bit better. He took a deep breath, put his hand on the doorknob, and tried to let just the right amount of sympathy show on his face. If he let too much show, America might assume he was being pitied and flip out. Nobody wanted that to happen. But, of course, if he didn't let _enough _show, America might think he didn't care at all and flip out. And nobody wanted that. Unable to think of any other way to prepare, Canada stopped procrastinating and opened the door. "Alfred?"

America looked up from the book he was reading. "Oh, h-hey, Matt." His voice was rather choked, and his eyes were pink and puffy, but at least he seemed to be feeling well enough to get bored and steal someone's book. He was even sitting in Professor Lupin's chair, feet resting on the desk.

Canada closed the door behind him and deposited the plate of food on the desk. "I brought some food from dinner, eh."

America flashed him an at least somewhat genuine smile. "Thanks, bro!" He threw the book aside and rubbed his hands together gleefully. It was at that moment Canada realized he'd forgotten to bring cutlery, and the food currently on the plate was not the kind usually eaten with your fingers. He opened his mouth to point this out, but then he realized how that conversation would go. '_Oh, hold on America, let me get some cutlery, eh.' 'THE HERO REQUIRES NO CUTLERY! OMNOMNOMNOMNOM!' _Not wanting to engage in a pointless dialogue, Canada busied himself with looking around the office and trying not to wonder how America was eating mashed potatoes with his hands.

It looked quite different than when Professor Lockhart was around. It was much nicer without that egotistical hoser's face plastered over every square inch of wall. In fact, there wasn't all that much personalization at all. He got the feeling Professor Lupin didn't have that many personal effects to decorate the space with. _I wonder if they have any desk ornaments or something in Hogsmeade… Then again, considering the way wizards seem to operate anything I buy would probably sprout wings and fly away or try and eat the hands of whoever's holding it or something._

Canada was struggling to comprehend the resulting mental image when he heard the clink of the plate being put back down. America had finished eating, and somehow managed to do so without leaving a speck of food on the plate, his hands, or his face. What, had he licked up every last molecule? Somehow that wouldn't surprise Canada in the slightest. _Well, I guess we've got to talk now. _Canada took a deep breath and, before his nerve failed him, said, "Hermione told me what happened in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

America's smile died as quickly as a slug in a bag of salt. His expression became much more guarded, and his body shifted to a position such that he could flee if the need arose. "Oh."

Once it became clear that that statement wasn't a prelude to some emotional deluge, Canada said, "You could have told us, eh."

America raised an eyebrow. "Who is 'us', exactly?"

"Eh… me and Arthur, I suppose," said Canada. America snorted derisively. Canada sighed. "I know you two have had your differences, but he's worried about you. Everyone's worried about you, actually. Him, me, Professor Lupin, Harry and Ron and Hermione, your other classmates… There are a lot of people here who want to help you."

America remained silent, gaze fixed on the floor. After about a minute of silence Canada began to think he'd never respond, but the thought had barely occurred to him before America sighed and said, "What the hell am I supposed to say?"

Canada shrugged. "I don't know." He picked up Kumajalapeño and held him out. "Would some fuzz therapy help?"

"… Yes." America grabbed the polar bear and hugged him against his chest, burying his face in his fur. Small fluffy animals were always useful therapeutic tools. If people could hug a puppy whenever they were feeling down, the world would be a much happier place.

In this case, however, it seemed to have the opposite effect. After an indeterminate amount of time, America's shoulders began shaking. He raised his head, his eyes shining with tears. "I… I didn't mean for it to happen," he said shakily. "Y-you know that, right? I thought… I thought he'd be fine…"

Canada sat down next to him, relieved that the metaphorical floodgates seemed to have opened. "I know." America rubbed at his eyes, allowing Kuma to slip from his fingers and sit down on the floor. "You can't do that, Alfred, you've got-"

"SCREW THESE THINGS!" America pulled the contacts out of his eyes more roughly than recommended. "AH! Son of a- Why did I do that?!"

Canada shrugged. "Why do you do anything, eh?"

America gave a half-hearted laugh. "I am a bit impulsive, I guess." He rubbed at his eyes again. "Seriously, though, those things were killing me."

"So, are you ready to start wearing your glasses again?" Canada asked delicately.

America sighed. "I dunno, bro. Every time I look at them, I think about… you know."

"Right." Canada mulled over the problem. He didn't want America to have to be reminded of his bloodiest war in history every time he remembered he was wearing glasses, but he clearly needed his Texas back… _Texas, of course! _"He wasn't the original owner, though, right?"

"No, he stole them," said America. "Dude, don't you remember? I think I spent, like, a whole evening complaining about it to you."

Canada decided to give America's train of thought a nudge in the right direction. "Right, I remember, eh. They were a present from your 'wife', right?"

America groaned. "She wasn't my… okay, I guess _technically _the annexation could be seen as a marriage, but… you know… She was, like, ten! I didn't marry a ten year old!"

"Of course you didn't," said Canada. Unable to resist needling him, he added, "She looked younger, how could you know she was that old, eh?"

America glared at him. "I can't see your expression very clearly, so I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and _not _hit you." His eyes suddenly gained a wistful cast. "You know, now that I think about it… I guess those glasses are all I really have left of her, huh?"

"You've still got the state," Canada pointed out.

"I guess, but that's kind of…" America tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Uh… what's that word where you can't really get a grip on something?"

"Intangible?" said Kumajess.

America pumped a fist in the air. "Right! That's it! Thanks, dude. Anyway, as I was saying, it's kind of intangible. The glasses are… uh… tangible? Right, tangible. Like, she actually handed them to me and said, 'Hey, think of these as me! Yee-haw!'"

The opportune moment had arrived. "Well, if that's the case, how about you try to think of her instead of him when you look at them?" Canada suggested.

"Right, because that's so much better," said America sarcastically. "Instead of thinking about my dead brother, I can think about my dead… uh… kinda-sorta-but-not-really wife."

"Yes, it is better," said Canada. He tried to look America in the eye, but he was avoiding his gaze. He got up, stood in front of him, and held his head in place so he couldn't look away. "Alfred. She was fine with it. She wanted to be human, she got what she wanted, and she lived a long and happy life. You made sure of that." For a moment America looked almost guilty. "Don't even bother denying it, eh. Do you really expect me to believe all the lucky breaks she got were sheer coincidence?"

America sighed again. "I… guess not. I've been really stupid this week, haven't I?"

"Not any more than any other week, eh," said Canada, releasing him and smiling impishly.

America punched him playfully on the shoulder. "How is it you've got such a saintly reputation when you say stuff like that?" His expression became much more serious and determined. "Anyway, I need to get over this. Partly, anyway. I'm not gonna wake up one day and be like, 'Oh, South dying? Meh, it's in the past, I'm never going to be upset about it ever again!' But I'm not gonna let getting upset about it take over my life. Nothing can stand in the way of the hero!" He struck one of his 'heroic poses'. "FOR LOVE AND JUSTICE!"

Canada smiled, relief flooding through him. _He's back. _He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could do so the door to the office burst open. He turned to see England standing in the doorframe, panting heavily. "FINALLY!"

America burst out laughing. "Oh, man, Iggy, dude, you look hilarious!" Canada had to admit that there was a certain humour in England's almost feverish expression, but he wasn't about to laugh at the crazy-eyed, extremely powerful wizard.

"Oh, hello, Arthur, it's nice to see you," said Canada quickly before England exploded both metaphorically and literally. "We were just heading out, eh."

"We were?" asked America, getting up and standing next to him. Canada elbowed him. "Ow! Fine, fine, we were heading out!"

A muscle in England's cheek twitched. "Oh… that's… good."

"G-good." Canada picked up Kumajelly in one hand, grabbed America by the arm with the other, and started making his way out of the office, keeping up a slightly terrified smile all the way. "We'll, um, see you later, then." By that point they'd reached the door. As soon as they were out of England's line of sight they started running, hoping to avoid the meltdown England was obviously about to have.

**A/N: This is probably horrible, but I don't even care, IT'S FINISHED! XD Between plot bunnies and just being a hard chapter to write, this took much longer than it really should have. HUGS FOR MY RETURN! \\(^-^)/ Thank you all for your advice regarding drawing and stuff. That particular plot bunny is leaving me alone for now, so I might not ever make use of it, but it means a lot regardless. NEXT CHAPTER: Wales goes to his first World Meeting. See you all next time!**


	14. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: WHY WALES DOESN'T LIKE SOCIALIZING**

Wales watched the clock on the wall slowly approach the World Meeting start time with increasing dread. He'd tried to read the papers England had given him, he really had, but his brain had started to collapse under the sheer amount of information it was trying to process. International politics seemed to resemble nothing so much as a soap opera that had been running for so long that every main character had been found by a long-lost relative, revealed to be related to another main character, married, divorced, fired, promoted, and diagnosed with a crippling illness at least once. He was going to accidentally start a war, he just knew it.

He was so lost in his anxiety that he was almost completely unaware of the world around him until someone tapped him on the shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin and found himself spouting the words he'd said to everyone who had come up to him asking who he was and what he was doing in England's chair. "England's busy, I'm Wales, I'm representing the UK." Or, at least, he tried to say that. In his panic it sounded more like, "ANGLEBUSTIWALEIREPRESSEDTHEUCK!"

The nation that had tapped him on the shoulder burst out laughing. It took a few moments for him to calm down enough to realize it was just Ireland. He straightened his tie and coughed awkwardly, trying to regain some shred of dignity. "Oh, er, h-hey, sis, didn't see you there."

Ireland seemed to recover somewhat, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Tat was te funniest ting I've seen all week. Wish I'd brought a camera."

"I 'ave you covered, Irlande." Wales whirled around to see France had managed to sit down next to him without him noticing. He was also holding a camera and smiling in a way that made Wales want to run away and put on as many layers as possible.

"H-how long have you been sitting there, frog?" Wales asked, surprise turning to anger. France merely laughed and wandered off to harass someone else.

"Wait, you didn't notice him?" Ireland took her seat on Wales's other side, staring at him incredulously. "He's been sittin' tere nearly as long as we have." As Wales reviewed his memory of the last fifteen minutes in horror, she placed a bottle of water in front of him. "Anyways, here's yer drink."

Wales stared at it. "Water? Seriously? When you said you were getting refreshments, I assumed it was going to be, like… stronger."

"Ya want to decide te fate of our family drunk?" Ireland asked, putting her own bottle on the table.

Wales sighed. "Well, I suppose when you put it like- HEY!" He'd noticed that the packaging on Ireland's drink was a lot different from his own. "How come you get to drink at meetings and I don't?"

"Because I can drink a pint wit'out pukin'," she said, pulling her keychain out of her pocket and utilizing the bottle opener hanging on it.

Wales glowered at his water bottle as if it had actively chosen to be non-alcoholic. He hated it when his siblings treated him like a child. At least it was one of his eldest siblings this time. There was nothing worse than having your little brother act as if you're some helpless toddler who would go wandering into danger without proper guidance. _All right, when I get home, I'm going to prove I can handle as much alcohol as the Irelands and Scotland. _He gave the plan a second thought. _ No, actually, I won't do that, because they all seem to have livers of steel and would drink me so far under the table I'd burn in the Earth's core._

He was still pouting when an announcement came over the loudspeakers. "Ze Vorld Meeting vill be taking place in five minutes," said Germany's disembodied voice. "Vould all attendees please return to ze meeting room."

Panic once again took Wales into its steely grip. "Ireland," he said, grabbing his sister's arm as it rose to bring the beer to her lips. "Give me some of that."

"Wha- I told ya, no!" she said, transferring the bottle to her other hand and holding it as far away from him as possible. "Ya need to be able to tink straight!"

"Look at me, sis!" said Wales, feeling on the verge of tears. "I can't do this! I'll mess it up! Someone will insult me and then I'll run out crying and they'll think they can take advantage of us and-"

"Cymru, calm down!" exclaimed Ireland. "I never tought I'd say tis, but gettin' drunk isn't te solution!"

"Come on, I'm going to get us all nuked anyway! At least let me not remember it!" His vision was getting blurry from the tears welling in his eyes, and he knew he was seconds away from crying like a baby. Then Ireland slapped him in the face.

"Oh, no, you aren't," she said as Wales rubbed his burning cheek. "If ya get in trouble, I'm probably goin' to have to deal wit it, too. Just don't be an arse and ya should be fine." Wales remained silent. "Yer not goin' to cry, are ya?"

"I think that slap scared the tears back into their ducts," said Wales. He took a deep breath and let the adrenaline from the slap pulse through him. "All right… all right, I can do this!" Ireland, in the middle of taking a gulp of beer, gave him a thumbs-up in encouragement. "It'll be easy! I just have to not be an arse! I'll just be myself!"

"Maybe don't go tat far," said Ireland quickly.

"Wh-what's that supposed to mean?" asked Wales. "What's wrong with being myself?"

She was saved from answering by the start of the meeting. Germany got to his feet and cleared his throat, quieting the room. "Guten tag, everyone. Before ve begin, zere is a small announcement I need to make." Half a dozen nations immediately put their hands up and made wisecracks. Sadly, since they all did it at the same time, it was impossible to tell what they were. "England is busy and won't be coming to ze Vorld Meetings for a vhile." Several nations cheered. "His bruder Vales vill be taking his place." The entire room turned to stare at Wales. Suddenly Ireland's reaction to his wanting to be himself made perfect sense. Himself felt like curling up and casting a spell that would literally make the earth swallow him. So, once again, he decided to change the undesirable feeling into anger and glared back at them all.

The meeting went on, and Wales was surprised to find that it was far easier than he had expected. It quickly devolved from talking calmly about serious world issues into nations screeching at each other and pulling each other's hair. Every now and then Germany would yell and things would get back in order for a little while before falling back into chaos. Wales was able to mostly just stay quiet and doodle a picture of Y Ddraig Goch so that it looked like he was taking notes. He wished he could have brought his faithful dragon, but Ddraig hated travelling. Occasionally someone would call on him to make a contribution, but he could get away with giving an answer that sounded meaningful but really meant nothing. He'd seen politicians do it enough to emulate it fairly well.

By the time the first break was called after Belarus tried to stab Lithuania, Wales was feeling downright cheerful. It seemed all his nightmarish imaginings of what would happen if he failed would remain just that, imaginings. He actually found himself humming as he put the finishing touches on his doodles. That all came to an abrupt halt when France sat down beside him again. "Bonjour, Galles!"

Wales glared at him. "Go away."

France gasped. "Angleterre, did you dye your 'air?"

"Wh-what the hell are you implying, frog?" Wales spluttered.

"Really, if you're going to be so obvious about it, why even put on ze accent?"

"I'm not-" Wales finally noticed the mocking gleam in France's eye and cut himself off. "Drewgi siffilitig," he muttered under his breath, returning his attention to his drawing.

"Come on, Galles, you were obviously channeling your bruzzer, no?" said France.

"No, I was channeling my own personal dislike of you," said Wales. His eyes darted around the room, searching for Ireland. He really didn't want to have to deal with France alone.

Before France could say any more, a huge plate heaped with steaming pasta was slammed onto the table between them. "Big brother France, I made PASTAAAA~!" said Italy, smiling.

"We've only been on break for five minutes, 'ow did you-" France began.

"Ve, Not-England, would you like some?" said Italy brightly, completely ignoring France's objection.

_Well, it does look rather good, and refusing would be like kicking a puppy. _"Well, all right, I suppose – MGH!" He'd barely gotten the affirmative out before Italy shoved a fork loaded with pasta into his mouth. Wales's eyes started watering as he struggled against his gag reflex. It wasn't that the food wasn't good (it was delicious), it was just that his usual reaction to strange food being forced into his mouth was to spit it out again. He liked to think it was a normal, healthy response. Then again, he liked to think a lot of things.

Somehow he managed to swallow. "Er, th-thank you, Italy, but would you please let me feed myself next time?"

"All right," said Italy. "OH, GERMANY! GERMANY, I'VE GOT PASTAAAA~!" He ran off towards Germany, plate held aloft.

Wales watched him bemusedly. "How does he stay so… energetic?" he asked no one in particular.

France decided to take the role of no one in particular and replied, "My best guess? Pasta." He pointed at Wales's face. "Ooh, looks like you 'ave some tomato sauce on your face."

Wales reached up to his cheek and found that, yes, there was indeed. "Ah. Thanks." He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief.

"Oh, don't worry, I'll take care of it," said France.

"What do you-" Wales didn't manage to get any further before he was traumatized for life by France lunging at him and licking the stain off his face. Suddenly what had been a good day became a horrible, scarring one that he never wanted to think about ever again.

**A/N: This chapter gave me way more trouble than it should have. I probably restarted it more times than any other chapter I've ever written. Accents give me trouble, okay? I'd say that I am going to actually do some plot advancement next chapter, but I know I probably won't. HUGS FOR FILLER! \\(^-^)/ Sorry this took so long. I guess I'm having a bit of trouble getting back into the swing of things. Hopefully the next chapter will be up faster. NEXT CHAPTER: England receives a Howler. See you all next time!**


	15. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: HOWLERS MOVING IN THE CASTLE**

"All right, I'll do it."

"Excellent! It seems you'll make us proud yet, little brother."

"Dude, don't do it, that stuff is, like, banned by the Geneva Convention!"

"I'm sure it's not _that _bad, Alfred."

"Oh yeah, sure, if you _like _the taste of petrified couch stuffing!"

Harry found a peculiar scene awaiting him when he approached the Gryffindor table at breakfast one ordinary September morning. He'd slept in, so most of the house was already there, including Ron, Hermione, Alfred, Fred and George. Ron was staring at a strange, burnt and lumpy substance on his plate with a mixture of anxiety and determination. Fred and George sat on either side of him, wearing identical evil grins, while Hermione and Alfred sat across from them, looking bemused and frantic respectively.

"What exactly is going on here?" Harry asked, sitting between Hermione and Alfred. If it was bad enough that even _Alfred _thought it was a bad idea, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"Ron's about to eat some of Professor Kirkland's scones," said Fred brightly.

"Wait, those are supposed to be _scones?_" Harry gaped at the charred, misshapen mass on Ron's plate. He never would have guessed it was ever meant to be edible.

"I know, right?" said Alfred. "Seriously, Ron, don't. You'll have to get your stomach pumped afterwards if you want to live."

"Really, Alfred, Professor Kirkland can't be _that _bad of a cook," said Hermione. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm a- the hero! I'm not about to be taken out by scones, even if they are an abomination to nature!" Harry filed that slip of the tongue away in his memory, along with Alfred's slightly guilty expression that seemed to scream, 'Phew, dodged a bullet there'.

"Where did you even get them?" asked Hermione. "I somehow doubt Professor Kirkland just handed them over to you."

"Yes, actually, he did," said George. "We found him wandering the halls muttering about how he wasn't allowed within a ten yard radius of the kitchen anymore. I reckon he was relieved someone wanted them."

"Of course he was," said Alfred, rolling his eyes. "Most of the people he tries to foist his food upon have a self-preservation instinct."

Over the course of the conversation, Ron's expression had become less and less determined and more and more pale. At the moment he was looking positively green. Fickle fortune deigned to smile upon him, however, because it was then that the morning post arrived. Harry looked up at the parliament swooping through the air, but quickly lost interest when he found that Hedwig's distinctive pale silhouette was nowhere to be seen. All his friends were sitting in the Great Hall. Who was going to send him a letter?

He would have started piling food onto his plate if Alfred hadn't elbowed him in the ribs and let out a high-pitched sound that could best be described as "Squee!" Harry followed the American's gaze and quickly realized what had caused such a gleeful response. Professor Kirkland was staring at a red envelope in his hands with an expression of pure horror. _A Howler. _Harry found himself filled with equal parts dread and anticipation. Receiving a Howler was an awful thing, he knew, but part of him wanted to know what Kirkland had done to deserve one.

The professor's eyes darted between the Howler and the door, calculating whether or not he could make it out of the Great Hall. Smoke was starting to rise from the envelope. He didn't have enough time to run. Pretty much everyone had gone quiet, not wanting to miss the spectacle.

So Professor Kirkland sighed, closed his eyes, and opened the letter.

"ARTHUR, WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH? YOU MUST HATE ME, BECAUSE YOU SENT ME TO HELL ITSELF!" The voice was male, fairly young-sounding, and had a Welsh accent. Oh, and very, very upset. Within the span of two sentences it had vacillated between spitting fury and sounding on the verge of tears half a dozen times. Professor Kirkland had his face buried in his hands, only his red ears showing his embarrassment. "SERIOUSLY, WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING STUFF LIKE THIS TO ME? WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU? IS IT BECAUSE OF THAT TIME I THREW ROCKS AT YOU UNTIL YOU LEFT ME ALONE? FINE, I'M SORRY I DID THAT, EVEN IF YOU WERE BEING AN ANNOYING TWERP AND HAD IT COMING! I'LL APOLOGIZE FOR WHATEVER YOU WANT, JUST DON'T MAKE ME COME BACK HERE AGAIN! NATALIA KEEPS TRYING TO STAB PEOPLE, IVAN HAS ASKED ME TO BECOME ONE WITH HIM THREE TIMES, FELICIANO'S FORCE-FED ME SO MUCH PASTA MY BLOOD IS TURNING INTO TOMATO SAUCE, AND ELIZABETA HAS PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE OF FRANCIS'S TONGUE ON MY FACE AND GOD KNOWS WHAT SHE'S GOING TO DO WITH IT! I KNOW I'VE SAID THIS BEFORE, SO FORGIVE ME FOR REPEATING MYSELF, BUT YOU ARE OFFICIALLY THE WORST BROTHER EVER!"

Harry blinked. _This is Professor Kirkland's brother? _The accent had thrown him off, but the voice did sound similar to Kirkland's, now that he listened for it. He glanced at Alfred and saw that he, too, was caught between guilt and morbid fascination, with just a dash of mischievous glee. It was clear that he was at least partially enjoying seeing his guardian humiliated. Harry also noticed, out the corner of his eye, that Ron was taking advantage of the distraction in order to dispose of the supposed scones.

His attention jerked back to Professor Kirkland as the Howler let out a strangled yelp. For a few moments silence reigned in the Great Hall, and Harry wondered whether it was over. He was quickly proven wrong when a very different voice emanated from the Howler. "HELLO, ARTUR, IT'S ME." This voice was female, Irish, and much calmer than the previous one. Despite this, the look on Kirkland's face as his head snapped up was one of dread.

The voice continued. "DYLAN GOT FRIGHTENED BY BERWALD SAYIN' HELLO TO HIM AND LOCKED HIMSELF IN A CLOSET. HE'S THREATENIN' TO CURSE ANYONE WHO OPENS THE DOOR, SO I'LL JUST FINISH THIS FOR HIM." Even from this distance, Harry could see Kirkland blanch. "I KNOW YA'LL OPEN THIS IN FRONT OF KIDS, SO I'LL TRY TO FINISH BEFORE I REMEMBER WHAT A MASSIVE BOLLIX YOU ARE. DYLAN DID A FINE JOB, HE'S JUST FREAKED OUT BECAUSE FRANCIS… WELL, WAS FRANCIS. HE'LL BE ALL RIGHT ONCE HE CALMS DOWN. NO NEED TO REPLACE HIM. HAVIN' PATTY AROUND WOULD BE GRAND, BUT HE AND ALISTAIR AREN'T EXACTLY TE MOST RATIONAL PEOPLE. TERE'S ENOUGH FIGHTIN' IN TESE MEETIN'S ALREADY. ALSO, ALFIE, WHEN'RE YA GONNA WRITE ME?" Harry glanced at Alfred, who didn't seem the slightest bit embarrassed. If anything, he looked quite pleased to be acknowledged. "I WANNA KNOW HOW YA'RE LIKIN' YER NEW CLASSES. I'M HOPIN' YA LIKE DIVINATION, JUST SO I CAN SEE PATTY'S HEAD EXPLODE. AND- GRNFH?!" Silence fell again for a few moments. When the voice came back, it was cold enough to send shivers down Harry's spine. "TAT SHEEP-SHAGGIN' BASTARD STOLE MY GUINNESS. I'LL JUST WRAP TIS UP NOW, I NEED TO GET TAT FIRE AXE I SAW IN TE HALL. ERIN." And on that threatening note, the Howler burst into flames and became naught but ash.

The entire Great Hall seemed to have been stunned into silence. Professor Kirkland got to his feet, straightened his collar, and walked out of the hall with a surprising amount of dignity, considering what had just happened. It was only once he had disappeared from sight that the low roar of a thousand students talking emerged again, louder than before.

"Oh, yeah, the meeting would have been yesterday," said Alfred, a far-off look in his eye. "I totally forgot…"

"What meeting?" asked Hermione.

"Uh…" Judging from his hesitation and expression, Alfred hadn't meant to say that out loud. "I can't tell you. It's super duper classified."

"Classified enough that its members are allowed to send Howlers talking about it?" asked Hermione, eyebrow raised.

"IMMA GO WRITE THAT LETTER TO ERIN NOW! LATERS!" Alfred fled so fast Harry could have sworn he left an afterimage like in cartoons.

"Reckon he didn't want to talk about it?" asked Fred sarcastically. He checked his watch. "Is it that time already? Come on, George, we'd better get going."

"What, you actually want to get to class on time? We'll give poor Professor Flitwick a heart attack," said George, but he got to his feet and started making his way to the door. As he passed Ron he gave him a smack upside the head. "This isn't over, Ronniekins. The scones will have their revenge."

Once the twins were gone, Hermione got down to business. "So, the people who sent the Howler were Dylan and Erin, and they mentioned people named Natalia, Ivan, Feliciano, Elizabeta, Francis, 'Patty' and Alistair."

"Well, we already know who Francis is," said Harry, remembering the flamboyant Frenchman from his visit the previous year. "And Dylan, Erin, Patrick and Alistair are all Professor Kirkland's siblings, right? Alfred and Matthew mentioned them."

"Those other names sounded foreign," said Ron. "A Welsh brother, an Irish sister, American and Canadian wards, that French bloke, and those other people… Professor Kirkland has a very large social circle."

"A bit too large, don't you think?" said Hermione.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry.

"Nothing, I suppose," sighed Hermione. "We don't have enough pieces to work out the puzzle… but the puzzle is there. Something's definitely up with that family." She looked at Harry. "What time is it?"

Harry checked his watch and nearly had a heart attack. "Time to go to class. We've got Divination first thing, it's going to take a while to get there. Would somebody mind fetching Alfred?"

"I'll do it," said Hermione, raising a hand to her collar. "I need to meet up with him to talk about Arithmancy, anyway."

**A/N: Finally, it's done! What can I say, writer's block is a bitch. HUGS FOR APOLOGIES! \\(^-^)/ I'm pretty busy right now, so it will most likely be a while before the daily updates return, if ever. Sorry, everyone. I'm glad you all seemed to like Wales. I like him, but I created the character, so I'm hardly unbiased. There was only one real question, so, To Calistrophia: France always likes to welcome new Nations to the fold in his own... special... way. And, hmm... San Marino isn't mentioned in the books, but I'll see if I can put in a reference to him. :) Also, RussianMochi, if that was a Portal 2 reference, I am going to be very happy. If it wasn't, I'll be slightly embarrassed and avoid eye contact with my Companion Cube plushie. Thank you all for being so patient. NEXT CHAPTER: Crookshanks tries to eat Scabbers, only for THE HERO! to intervene. (Hopefully it'll mutate into something better as I'm writing it) See you all next time!**


	16. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: BLACK HOLES, WOLVERINE, AND RICKROLLING, OH MY!**

America stared dejectedly at the piece of parchment before him. "Why does Professor Sinistra assign us so many star charts, dudes?" he thought aloud. Ron and Hermione looked up from their own charts. "It seems like all we learn about in Astronomy is the position of stars and planets! Not even what stars are made of or the different types, just where they are in the sky! There are so many totally awesome things in outer space, why can't we learn about those? At this point I'd literally kill to spend some time learning about black holes or supernovas or something!"

Ron frowned. "What's a supernova?"

America looked at Hermione. "I rest my case."

Hermione sighed. "Alfred, if you have a problem with the curriculum, bring it up with Professor Sinistra. We aren't in charge of it. You'll just have to grin and bear it."

America grumbled unintelligibly to himself, but returned his attention back to his chart. He began putting some words down, if only to keep Hermione happy. He was able to seize upon another distraction soon, though, when the Quidditch team trudged back into the common room from training. "Yo, Harry!" America yelled, jumping to his feet and running over. "Check it out, dude, we're going to Hogsmeade on Halloween!" He pointed at the notice on the notice board.

"Excellent," said Fred. "I need to visit Zonko's, I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets."

America was suddenly struck by a bolt of inspiration. "Yo, Fred, George," he said, approaching the twins. "Y'all really like scaring the crap out of people, right?"

"When it's the right people, sure," said George. "Anyone in particular you want to terrorize?"

"Iggy," said America, pleased with how well his plan was going so far.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "A professor? Well, it's not the first time… What's in it for us?"

And now they had reached the negotiation stage. "The satisfaction of helping me finally beat him at his own game?" America offered.

The twins stared at him blankly. "Uh, Alfred, I think you skipped the step where you explain what in the world that means," said George.

"Oh, crap, I did! Thanks, George!" America cleared his throat and said, in the spookiest voice he could manage, "Long, long ago, an innocent young boy, destined by fate to become the greatest hero in the world, was-"

"'Destined by fate'?" interrupted Fred. "That statement is just… completely redundant."

"Well… your face is redundant!" America snapped. "Annnyyyywaaaay…" He put the spooky voice back on. "So, there was the young hero, simply minding his own business and walking along a deserted forest path. The… er… not-quite-full-but-practically-there moon stared down at him like a great, heavy-lidded eye, but as I stated previously he was a hero and he wasn't about to quail beneath any glare, no matter how bareful."

"Bareful?" George repeated. "I don't think that's even a word. Did you mean baleful?"

America crossed his arms. "Would you stop interrupting? I'm trying to create an ominous mood, but you two keep ruining it! If you interrupt again, I'll just have to give you the short version-"

"Yes, please," the twins said simultaneously.

"- and then you'll – wait, what?" America struggled to regain his metaphorical balance. "You… don't want to hear the story?" Fred and George nodded emphatically. "Oh… I… I see…" He looked down at the floor. "It's just… I really worked hard at setting up a scary mood, and I spent, like, an hour going through a thesaurus for some of the words, and… Well, I guess none of that matters now…"

"Ugh, fine, fine, you can finish your story, just stop guilt-tripping us!" snapped George. "You are _way _too good at it."

America immediately perked up. "Awesome! Now, where was I? Hmm… I don't remember, so let's go back to the beginning, dudes!" He chose to take the rather dark look Fred shot George as him trying to get into the proper mood.

The story was pure awesome dipped in coolness, if America said so himself. The actual memory was pretty boring; England had just put on a mask and chased him around a bit one Halloween. But who wanted to hear that? So, he'd made sure to put in lots of vampires and zombies and werewolves and demons and a tank, because everything was better with tanks! Well, okay, maybe not everything, but tanks were still awesome!

He'd just reached the part where England's giant robot octopus had nearly defeated him in the alien's secret base when Ron suddenly screamed, "OY! GET OFF, YOU STUPID ANIMAL!"

America turned to look at him. "Oh, Ron, I didn't know you were listening! Yes, the robot octopus had me pinned down, but with my-"

"Alfred, I think he's referring to the large cat that seems to have gained a sudden burning hatred for his bag," said Fred, deadpan.

"Hmph. Serves him right for not listening to my story," said America dismissively.

Said bag went flying past his head a moment later. And a moment after that… "CATCH THAT CAT!"

America's hero instincts took over. "Fear not, brave sidekick! I'll catch the cat with my superheroic skills!" He looked around. "Wait, where did it go?" Then he spotted the tell-tale bottlebrush tail waving back and forth as Crookshanks tried to get at something beneath a chest of drawers. "THERE IT IS! PREPARE TO FACE JUSTICE, MISCREANT!" The cat looked up in time to see America lunging at him, give him one of those 'Really? You're going to do something this stupid?' looks that cats were so skilled at, and dodge out of the way. America had just enough time to mentally swear before he crashed into the chest of drawers.

Stars danced before his eyes when his head slammed against a very inconveniently-placed knob. He blinked, feeling dazed. _If I were human, I'd probably have a concussion right now. Good thing I'm not. _"Alfred, are you all right?" Harry asked, helping him to his feet.

"I'm the hero! I am always amazingly right!" said America, holding a hand to his throbbing forehead.

Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione were having a fight. "Look at him!" said Ron furiously, dangling Scabbers in front of her. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"

"Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" said Hermione, her voice shaking. "All cats chase rats, RON!"

"There's something funny about that animal!" said Ron, trying to stuff Scabbers in his pocket. He wasn't being very successful. "It heard me say that Scabbers was in my bag!"

"Oh, what rubbish," said Hermione impatiently. "Crookshanks could _smell _him, Ron, how else d'you think-"

"That cat's got it in for Scabbers!" said Ron, starting to resemble one of those crazy homeless people on street corners preaching about how the aliens were awakening from hibernation and would take over the world with their army of zombies. "And Scabbers was here first, _and _he's ill!" With that Ron turned and stormed up to the boys' dormitory.

"Hey, uh, Hermione? I think Alfred's got a concussion," said Harry.

"No, I don't!" protested America, taking his hand away from his forehead. The pain had dissipated, and he was pretty sure that any brain damage had been healed. "Concussions are _so _unheroic! I'm fine!"

"Are you sure?" asked Hermione, looking worried. "Concussions are pretty serious. You'd better go to the hospital wing, just to be safe."

"If I do that, Madam Pomfrey's just going to be annoyed at me for wasting her time again," said America. _Why doesn't anyone ever believe me when I say I'm fine?! _"Look, my healing factor's taken care of it, let's drop it and move on!"

"Healing factor?" repeated Hermione.

_Oh, crap. Did I say that out loud? _"Y-yeah, my, uh, _mutant _healing factor!" said America quickly. "Didn't I tell you? I'm Wolverine!"

"Uh-huh," said Hermione, looking thoroughly unconvinced. Suddenly her eyes lit up and she smirked. "Well, if you're feeling so excellent, let's go back to working on our Astronomy homework!" She went back to where they'd been sitting and pulled America's star chart towards her.

"What?!" America started backing up towards the portrait hole. "You know what, actually, m-maybe I'd better go get myself checked out…"

Hermione was staring at the chart in confusion. "'Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down'?"

America had reached the entrance. He hurriedly opened it and stepped out. "Yeah, I'm gonna go to the hospital wing now! Later, dudes!"

He closed the portrait just as Hermione screeched, "ALFRED, DID YOU JUST WRITE SONG LYRICS INSTEAD OF DOING THE ACTUAL WORK?!"

**A/N: This chapter is probably one of the most disjointed I have ever written, but IT IS COMPLETED! HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \\(^-^)/ I am extremely sorry for my hiatus. I had an excuse at first (I was involved in a rather time-consuming project), but after that I was just lazy and distracted. Still, it's here now, so yay! Now onto Q&amp;A! To RussianMochi: That's a good idea... I probably should have used it. 0_0 Ah, well, maybe next time! To SoulxMakaLover37: I guess England just felt like making scones. The house elves had to replace just about everything he used, but the kitchen is okay now. And... it's best not to think about how many people England's accidentally killed with his cooking. I know that Irish people drinking Guinness is just a stereotype but, hey, it's Hetalia. I'm guessing they have a fire axe in case there's a fire and someone needs to break down a door? Are you referring to whales, the sea creatures, or Wales, the character I made up? If the former, then I guess because they're majestic animals with pretty songs. If the latter, then I guess because I keep making bad things happen to him, and people tend to sympathize with that. I guess America thinks 'Well, now you're working for two, dude, so you need all the money you can get!' It was an awful lot of questions. Next time! To TheChibitalian47: ... Wow, I am extremely sheltered. I had to google that in order to get it. As for me, I'd probably start randomly singing Bohemian Rhapsody and see who joined in. Thanks for the hug! Thank you all for being so patient. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada and Harry hang out while everyone else goes to Hogsmeade. See you all next time!**


	17. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THOSE LEFT BEHIND**

Canada couldn't quite quell the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach as he made his way down to breakfast. It was Halloween, and he knew what that meant. America and England would be continuing their little contest, and Canada didn't want to get caught up in it again. Whether it was America forcibly enlisting his help or England mistaking him for America, it always ended with him getting the living daylights scared out of him.

His fellow Hufflepuffs had no such worries, of course, and chattered excitedly amongst themselves about what they would do in Hogsmeade. Getting candy from Honeydukes seemed to be the number one priority of most of them, but there was the occasional mention of visiting the Three Broomsticks or looking at the Shrieking Shack from a safe distance. _So this year England will be able to utilize the most haunted building in Britain to scare America. Wonderful. Maybe I should just stay in the castle today…_

As soon as he walked into the Great Hall, America somehow materialized beside him. "YO, BRO, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!" he shouted into Canada's ear.

Canada winced and rubbed his ringing ear. "R-right, Happy Halloween, eh."

"Aren't you totally excited about going to Hogsmeade?" asked America. "I am! Honeydukes sounds AWESOME! Ron says that some of the candy there tries to eat _you_! Sounds like something Ivan would come up with." His expression soured. "Actually, on second thought, maybe I'll give that candy a pass. But the rest of it sounds amazing! Oh, and Zonko's! Fred and George say there's all sorts of stuff there I can use to scare-"

"Hello, Alfred." America froze mid-sentence and both brothers turned to look at England, who had just entered the Great Hall and was wearing the smuggest of smile on his face. "Talking about Hogsmeade?"

"Yeah!" said America. There was a moment of tense silence as he and England stared at each other, their lips smiling but their eyes glaring. It only lasted a moment because America shouted, "I'M TOTALLY GONNA SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF YOU THIS YEAR, IGGY! MWAHAHAHA!" Canada stared at him. _Did he just try to do an evil laugh? If he did, I can see why he's always trying to be a hero. He'd make an awful villain._

England just kept smiling. "Oh, you're welcome to try. And on a _completely _unrelated note, make sure to pay a visit to the Shrieking Shack while you're in Hogsmeade. I'm sure you'll find the atmosphere there… spine-tingling. Ta for now." With that he turned on his heel and walked towards the staff table, chuckling diabolically all the while.

"We'll show him," America muttered. "Yeah, we'll totally beat him this time!"

"We?" asked Canada.

"Yeah! You're totally gonna help me!" said America.

"Eh, actually, I've got some homework I should really finish up," Canada lied. "I think I'll just stay in the castle today."

"WHAT?! B-But they have candy! CAAAAANNNNDDDDYYYYYY!"

"You can always just bring me some back," said Canada.

"Logic has no place when candy's involved!" America's expression brightened. "Hey, actually, if you're staying, you can hang out with Harry! He's been super mopey 'cause he can't go with us."

Canada looked to the Gryffindor table and saw Harry, who was indeed looking 'mopey'. "All right," he said, relieved to have a good reason to avoid the '93 Scare-a-Thon. The words were barely out of his mouth before America had seemingly teleported over to the Gryffindor table. Canada took advantage of the opportunity to go to the Hufflepuff table and have some breakfast. Once he'd eaten his fill, he went into the Entrance Hall with all the other students. Filch was standing at the front doors, checking names off an almost comically long list and peering suspiciously into every face trying to get into Hogsmeade.

"Staying here, Potter?" Canada looked to the source of the shout. It was Malfoy, of course, looking incredibly smug. "Scared of passing the Dementors?"

"What was that, Malfoy?" America shouted back. "'Please punch me in the face, Alfred?' Sure sounded like it to me!" Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and gave him a reproachful look.

Harry seemed to ignore Malfoy and started making his way towards Gryffindor tower. Canada hurried over to intercept him. "Hi," he said softly.

Harry let out a startled yelp and whirled around to look at Canada. "What are- Oh, it's you, Matthew. Aren't you going to Hogsmeade?"

Canada shook his head. "Not this time, eh. I'm sure you've heard about Alfred and Arthur's annual contest by now." Harry nodded. "Good. Then you'll understand why I want to stay as far away from those two as possible for today."

"Is it really that bad? I mean, even with Fred and George helping him, the plans Alfred told us were… lackluster, to say the least," said Harry.

"It's not Alfred's plans I'm worried about. It's Arthur's. Especially since he can use the Shrieking Shack this year, eh." Canada tried and failed to suppress a shudder.

"Oh… In that case, I completely understand." Harry scratched the back of his head. "So… what should we do?"

Canada shrugged. "I dunno. What do you want to do?"

Harry shrugged as well. "I don't know." He looked down at Kumayuppie. "Do you have any ideas, Kumajiro?"

The polar bear, who had been watching Mrs. Norris suspiciously, turned to look at him. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Never mind," Harry sighed. Kumagideon turned his attention back to the caretaker's cat. "I can't believe I just asked a _bear _for advice."

"I ask him for advice all the time," said Canada, trying not to feel insulted. "And I'd think you would have gotten used to weird stuff by now, eh. The other day we walked past a ghost and a talking painting discussing a sport involving flying broomsticks and balls that fly around of their own accord, and you didn't even bat an eye."

"…Well, when you put it like that…"

Eventually they decided to head to the Owlery to see how Hedwig was doing. They were discussing whether the carnivorous Kumakiri should be taken inside with them when a voice called out, "Harry?"

They both stopped and turned to see Professor Lupin poking his head out of his office. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Where are your friends?"

"Well, Matthew's right here," said Harry, gesturing to Canada.

"Hello," said Canada. Lupin blinked in surprise, but nodded a greeting to him.

"But Ron and Hermione and Alfred are in Hogsmeade," Harry finished, trying to sound casual.

"Ah." Lupin considered them for a moment. "Why don't you two come in? I've just taken delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson."

"A what?" asked Harry as he and Canada followed the professor into the office.

"It's a kind of water demon, eh," explained Canada.

"Precisely," said Lupin, surveying the Grindylow. It certainly looked demonic, with green skin and sharp horns and long fingers and the fact it was making weird faces at them through the glass of the tank. "We shouldn't have much difficulty with him, not after the Kappas. The trick is to break his grip. You notice the abnormally long fingers? Strong, but very brittle." _America's probably going to shatter the poor thing's fingers, if that's the case, _Canada thought to himself. The Grindylow, perhaps sensing his thought, bared its teeth at them one last time and buried itself in a pile of seaweed in a corner.

Then Professor Lupin offered them some tea, and they made a little bit of somewhat awkward small talk before he asked a worried-looking Harry, "Anything worrying you, Harry?"

"No," Harry said far too quickly. He took a sip of tea, avoiding the gazes of Canada and Lupin, before seeming to relent. "Yes. You know that day we fought the Boggart?"

"Yes," said Lupin slowly.

"Why didn't you let me fight it?" asked Harry bluntly.

"He didn't let you fight it, either?" Canada asked, surprised. Harry looked at him with an equal amount of surprise. _I was so worried about Alfred, I never bothered to ask about the others' experience… And now that I think about it, I never mentioned not fighting the Boggart. _"Sorry, eh," he added.

"There is no need to apologize, Matthew," said Lupin. "And I would have thought it was obvious."

Harry seemed surprised by this honesty. "Why?"

"Well, I assumed that if the Boggart faced you, Harry, it would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort," said Lupin. In response to Harry's obvious surprise, he continued, "Clearly, I was wrong, but I didn't think it a good idea for Lord Voldemort to materialise in the staff room. I imagined that people would panic."

"I did think of Voldemort at first," admitted Harry, while Canada struggled not to chuckle at the absurdity of the mental image Lupin had conjured. "But then I remembered those Dementors." That stole all of Canada's mirth.

"I see," said Lupin. "Well, well… I'm impressed. That suggests that what you fear most of all is – fear. Very wise, Harry."

"So, why didn't you let me fight it, eh?" asked Canada. "I've never had any run-ins with You-Know-Who… well, there was that time last year, but it was just a memory, not the real thing, and he was really more annoying than scary." Lupin stared at him. "It's a long story."

Lupin cleared his throat and said, "Well, after the incident with Alfred, I was worried about what effect it might have on you."

"Ah… thank you for your concern," said Canada. "It… probably wouldn't have been the same as Alfred's." _The Confederate States and I were never really all that close. _"But still, it… could have been pretty bad, so thanks, eh."

"It was no trouble," said Lupin. He opened his mouth to continue, but a knock came at the door, and he instead called out, "Come in." Professor Snape walked into the room, carrying a smoking goblet. He stopped at the sight of Harry, eyes narrowing like a cat who had just spotted an injured bird. "Ah, Severus. Thanks very much. Could you leave it here on the desk for me?" Snape did so, eyes wandering between Harry and Lupin. Canada was more relieved than offended that he was being ignored. "I was just showing Harry my Grindylow," said Lupin, pointing at the tank.

"Fascinating," said Snape, completely ignoring it. "You should drink that directly, Lupin."

"Yes, yes, I will," said Lupin.

"I made an entire cauldronful," Snape continued. "If you need more."

"I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus."

"Not at all," said Snape, backing out of the room. Canada tried to put the suspicious gleam in his eye down to his imagination. Once the Potions Master was gone, he and Harry looked curiously at the potion. Lupin noticed.

"Professor Snape has very kindly concocted a potion for me," he said. "I have never been much of a potion-brewer and this one is particularly complex." He picked up the goblet and sniffed it. "Pity sugar makes it useless," he added, taking a sip and shuddering.

"Eh, Professor, why-" Canada began.

"I've been feeling a bit off-colour," Lupin answered before he could finish the question. "This potion is the only thing that helps. I am very lucky to be working alongside Professor Snape; there aren't many wizards who are up to making it." He took another sip, and out of the corner of his eye Canada saw Harry looking at the goblet like it was full of snakes.

"Professor Snape's very interested in the Dark Arts," he blurted out. Canada stared at him, shocked. _Is he honestly suggesting that Snape is trying to kill a fellow teacher?_

"Really?" said Lupin idly, taking another sip.

"Some people reckon- some people reckon he'd do anything to get the Defence Against the Dark Arts job." _Yes, it seems he really is suggesting that. I should probably get us out of here before Lupin realizes it and gets offended on Snape's behalf._

"We should probably get going, eh," he said, tucking Kumajemima under one arm and using the other to grab Harry and start dragging him towards the door. "You probably need to get back to work. Thank you for the tea, Professor."

"It was my pleasure," said Lupin. "I'll see you at the feast." He took another draught of the potion, and Canada got the feeling that if he hadn't been restraining him Harry would have run over and knocked the goblet out of his hand. _That would be bad. It looks like it would stain horribly._

**A/N: Sorry this took so long! I really seem to have trouble concentrating. HUGS! \\(^-^)/ Can't think of anything to say, so onto Q&amp;A! To RussianMochi: Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead. Mama, life had just begun... But now I've gone and thrown it all awaaaaaayyyy! I am genuinely sorry to burst your bubble, but Wales would probably just stammer a lot and try to politely decline, but he'd give up and just go along with it if Italy insisted. Not sure about Death the Kid, but I know that Edward Elric is the titular Fullmetal Alchemist. I might give them a look someday, but I am really, really bad about looking at series people suggest to me, so it could be a long time. To Calistrophia: I actually got into it through TV Tropes. I saw it a few times in example sections and was like, 'Okay, I need to see what the heck this is.' I've actually discovered a few series I really like through it. I pretty much completely spoiled myself about all of them, though, so it might not be for everyone. To Sahana: I'm glad you enjoyed it so much! Once upon a time this updated almost daily, but I've been having trouble with it recently, so there isn't really a schedule. To Tsubaki Ino: I'll probably say yes, but which part did you want to use? To KAT of fanfiction: Look, Belarus, I updated, please don't stab me! I have no idea whether or not the Golden Trio is going to find out about the nations. Though if America keeps slipping up, they probably will eventually. To writersoftheuniverse: Wow, I hope you got enough sleep after that! Yes, France will be popping up a lot in book 4. Thank you all for being so wonderful. NEXT CHAPTER: The Gryffindors find a nasty surprise waiting for them after the feast. See you all next time!**


	18. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE RUBY CITY**

England was feeling rather gloomy come Halloween night. Through the morning and most of the afternoon he'd been much more cheerful, perhaps even excited. He'd never actually been inside the Shrieking Shack before, since doing so would have surely resulted in talking to Scotland. Even so, he'd felt quite proud of having such a haunted building arguably within his territory. So of course he'd wanted to use the ghosts there to scare America.

Except there were no ghosts. There were cobwebs, creaking doors, scratches on the walls, and all the other telltale signs of a haunted house, but not a single trace of spirits from beyond the grave. He'd felt very much like a small child who had snuck out of his room on Christmas Eve to see Father Christmas only to see his mother filling his stocking and his father pouring alcohol into the milk to drink.

He'd managed to scare America, of course (even a very mediocre demon summoned via a hasty ritual had been able to do the trick), but the victory felt very hollow. Even the cheery atmosphere of the Halloween feast proved insufficient in lightening his mood. He simply stared down at his plate, rearranging his food with his fork, but not in the mood for eating any of it.

Lupin, who was sitting next to him, noticed. "Come on, Kirkland, you should eat something," he said. "The house elves did an excellent job this year."

"I'm sure they did," said England. He stared at his food, trying to work up an appetite. It didn't work. "I'm just… not in a celebrating mood."

"Ah. Did this 'scaring contest' of yours not go well?" Lupin asked. In response to England's surprised look he added, "Matthew mentioned it."

"Well, I won, but…" England struggled to put his emotions into words. "You've heard of the Shrieking Shack, right?"

Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Lupin stiffen ever so slightly. "Yes," he said.

"Turns out there's a lot less shrieking than was advertised," said England. "It looked like there might have been a ghost once upon a time, but it felt like it had been long gone."

"So… you went into what is purportedly the most haunted place in Britain, found that it was not, in fact, haunted, and you were… disappointed?" asked Lupin disbelievingly.

"Yes," said England, glaring at his peas as if they had convinced the Shrieking Shack's residents to leave. "I like ghosts." _I never have to worry about outliving them._

"…Well, I suppose that could be considered a valuable trait in a History of Magic teacher," said Lupin. "As for the Shrieking Shack…" He glanced at the nearest students, who were definitely within earshot. "I'll explain later."

"All right," said England. _Why would he know about the Shrieking Shack? _The promise of an explanation was enough to at least partially restore his appetite, so he started eating. Or at least he tried, because no sooner had he made to spear some peas on his fork than they vanished. Apparently the house elves had decided everyone surely must have eaten their fill by then. England groaned and let his head collide with his now empty plate with a _thunk._

Lupin patted him on the shoulder. "Well, at least now you have more room for dessert."

By the time the feast was over, England felt rather sick to his stomach. He was fairly certain nobody, human or nation, should have nothing but sugary treats that were the dental equivalent of wrecking balls for a meal. Now he knew why so many children didn't devour all their trick or treating spoils in a single night. Despite his glucose-induced daze, he somehow managed to make his way back to his office. Lupin's explanation completely forgotten, he fell face-first onto his bed without even bothering to get changed and fell into a troubled sleep filled with surreal dreams.

He was just having a dream in which his brothers were leaving the UK to join Russia's Lollipop Guild (literal Lollipop Guild – the entire Soviet Union were shrunken down to Munchkin height, wearing plaid shirts and striped tights beneath ragged shorts, and wielding lollipops) when he was partially awoken by the door to his living quarters banging open. "Don't leave, I can give you lollipops, too!" he blurted out.

"This is no time to be worrying about lollipops, Arthur!" piped a squeaky voice. England opened his eyes enough to squint and could just about make out a tiny figure standing near his bed.

"Ugh, I thought I told you to leave us alone, you damn Munchkins," England growled. "I should have known the Land of Oz was communist, it was plain as day. You can keep your crappy lollipops and spontaneous musical numbers to yourselves, wankers."

"Er… Arthur, are you still asleep?" asked the communist Munchkin.

"What kind of question is that? Of course I'm not. I've spent years building an immunity to poppy sleeping gas."

"All right, then. I… suppose I'll just take my, um, lollipops and poppies and be on my way back to… uh… Oz…" There were faint footsteps as he started backing away slowly.

England closed his eyes again, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips. "That's right, you run away. Now come, brothers, let us dance in the forest with the fairies like the old days…"

The next time he was woken, it was far less pleasant. He was unceremoniously torn from the world of dreams by his head being drenched in ice-cold water. He swore loudly, pushing himself upright and trying to get his bearings. Lupin was standing in front of him, wiping the end of his wand on his sleeve. "Awake now, Kirkland?"

"What the bloody hell was that for?" England demanded, grabbing his own wand from his bedside table.

"Since trying to wake you up gently resulted in you ranting at Flitwick about communists and lollipops, I felt a harsher approach was necessary," said Lupin.

England cast a Hot-Air Charm and pointed his wand at his head. His hair began drying out immediately. _And people wonder why I don't have a hair dryer. _"So, what is so important you felt the need to wake me up at-" He checked the clock hanging on the wall. "- midnight?"

"Sirius Black has entered the castle."

England's wand fell to the floor with a clatter. "WHAT?!"

"He tried to enter Gryffindor Tower during the feast. The students are staying in the Great Hall for tonight while we search he castle for him," Lupin explained.

England picked up his wand and got to his feet. "Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's find that son of a bitch." Lupin chuckled. "What's so funny?"

Lupin regained his composure. "Nothing. Let's go search the fifth floor."

They searched, but all they found were enormous quantities of nothing. The most out of place thing they found was a paw-print on a dusty statue, which, while odd, was hardly conclusive evidence for finding an escaped human convict. England was struck by a profound feeling of déjà vu as they passed the same statue for what was probably the sixth time. "I have absolutely no idea where we're going anymore," he said.

Lupin breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good, it's not just me, then."

England pulled out his wand. "There is practically zero chance of this working, but might as well try. _Homenum Revelio!_" The two of them waited for a few tense heartbeats. When nothing happened, England sighed and stowed the wand away again. He felt a bit silly for trying that. He highly doubted that a wizard skilled enough to break into _Hogwarts _would be foolish enough to be caught via such simple methods. "It was worth a shot."

"I suppose so." Lupin sat down on a nearby bench. "Black is probably long gone by now. Even he wouldn't linger with Dumbledore around."

England sat next to him. "Yes. Speaking of Albus, we should really report back to him."

"Yes, we should." Lupin stifled a yawn. "In a few minutes, perhaps."

"Sounds good to me." England stretched his arms above his head. For some reason he suddenly remembered the promise from dinner. "So, feel like explaining the whole Not-So-Shrieking Shack thing?"

Lupin tensed. "Ah, yes, I did say I would, didn't I?" He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts into a coherent narrative. "I am sure Professor Dumbledore has told you of my… condition." England nodded. "As you can imagine, certain preparations had to be made in order for me to attend Hogwarts with other, normal children." England chuckled. "What's so funny?"

England realized that his badly timed mirth could be taken as very, _very _offensive. "Oh, er, nothing! I just thought it a bit funny to hear witches and wizards described as 'normal'. Carry on."

Lupin gave him an odd look, but continued. "As I was saying, preparations were made. Every full moon, I was spirited away to the Shrieking Shack so that I couldn't harm others. In order to keep people away, Dumbledore told the villagers that it was haunted. I caused quite the racket when I transformed, so they were happy to believe him. And… that's it."

"Well, at least some form of magic was involved," said England. "I did think it a bit odd how a building could gain such a reputation so quickly. I'd assumed some sort of horrible massacre happened there that Albus or the Ministry covered up or something."

"Are you honestly disappointed that there wasn't a horrible massacre less than an hour away from a school?" asked Lupin.

"O-of course not, why would I… Okay, yes," England admitted. Lupin said nothing in response. And kept saying nothing. When what felt like several minutes had gone by without so much as a peep, England said, "I do realize how unfit for a teaching position that makes me sound."

Lupin turned to him with a start. "Hm? What were we talking about?"

"Oh, nothing important," said England quickly. "Something on your mind?"

Lupin turned away again to stare directly ahead. "Nothing, nothing…" He went quiet again, and England desperately cast about for some non-nightmarish topic of conversation. He needn't have bothered, since barely ten seconds went by before Lupin said, "Hypothetically speaking, if you had important knowledge that would make things a whole lot easier for everyone, but you learned it in a manner that could ruin you if anyone found out, what would you do?"

England blinked in surprise. "Um… well…" He checked his watch. "It is far, far too late for deep, philosophical discussions on morality. We should head back to the Great Hall."

Lupin got to his feet. "Right, we should do that. It was a silly question, anyway."

**A/N: It seems I unintentionally tricked you all. The nasty surprise was just the whole Sirius slashing up the Fat Lady thing. HUGS! \\(^-^)/ Speaking of unintentional writing, England and Lupin are bonding a lot more than I thought they would. Ah, well, that's the cool thing about the writing by the seat of your pants: Your characters can surprise you. Also, I am way too happy about being able to write the words 'asked the communist Munchkin'. Anyways, onto Q&amp;A! To RussianMochi: I want to keep the focus on America, Canada, and England, so there will most likely not be any more Nations becoming students. I don't really have any strong opinions about America, other than that your portions are way too big. To Guest: Now that you say it, I do vaguely recall watching a nature show where they talked about polar bears eating plants. Oops. To Other Guest: I forgot about Tony. Aliens and Hogwarts do not mesh well in my mind, I suppose. Thank you all for being great. NEXT CHAPTER: The Bat-Dude invades Hero Class. See you all next time!**


	19. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: BAT-DUDE RETURNS**

"Dude, I'm telling you, it makes perfect sense!"

"In what world do noseless house elves inside giant flying saucers dropping Sirius Black off inside school grounds make sense?"

"Exactly, they're from another world! And it's not like your idea's any better! A guy disguising himself as a bush to try and sneak past law enforcement is, like, something a Marx brother would do, not the most dangerous criminal in the wizarding world!"

"He wouldn't _disguise _himself as a bush, he'd _become _a bush!"

A loud interrupting clearing of the throat came before America could reply. "Alfred, hurry up, we're going to be late for Defence Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione.

"Oh, fine." America turned back to Hannah Abbott. "This is not over! When my friend Tony writes me back, he's totally going to confirm that it was aliens!" Hermione, who seemed to consider even this short farewell dangerously long, grabbed his sleeve and started dragging him away.

"Er, sure, of course he will. Be seeing you, Alfred," said Hannah.

Hermione didn't release him until they'd reached the classroom. After giving her a petulant glare, he threw open the door and entered the class. "S'UP, DUDES?"

His fellow Gryffindors gave him looks of dread. _What's up with them? _Then a familiar, menacing voice sounded and everything became clear. "Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Jones, for disrupting every class on the floor. Sit down."

America stared at the Bat-Dude. "What did you do to Professor Lupin?!" he demanded. _He finally did it. The Bat-Dude finally pulled a Macbeth. Except he killed and replaced a teacher instead of a king. Whatever, the allusion totally works!_

"Professor Lupin is feeling too ill to teach. Sit down," said the Bat-Dude coldly.

"Alfred, just do as he says, you don't want to lose more points," Hermione hissed, not-so-gently nudging him toward the back row where Ron was already sitting. Grumbling under his breath about how he would make sure to avenge Lupin, America complied.

It was very hard not to do anything that would jeopardize House points, however, when the Bat-Dude spent the next ten minutes disparaging Professor Lupin and his teaching methods. A few minutes into the 'lecture', America had to block him out and refocus his energy before he got an ulcer or a rage-fuelled heart attack or something. He ended up drawing a picture of the Bat-Dude being thrown out a spaceship by Tony and Sirius Black. Unfortunately, just as it was becoming a true work of art, the sound of the classroom door opening startled him and made him draw a line straight through Tony's torso.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor Lupin, I-" America's irritation vanished when it was Harry who dashed into the room, only to freeze when he spotted the Bat-Dude.

"This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we'll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down."

Harry ignored the request. "Where's Professor Lupin?"

The Bat-Dude smirked in a villainous way and said, "He says he is feeling too ill to teach today. I believe I told you to sit down."

Harry continued to defy him by staying right where he was. "What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing life-threatening," said the Bat-Dude in a disappointed sort of way. "Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty." _Damn, you'd think finally getting the position he wanted would make him a bit less grumpy, but I guess not. _Harry begrudgingly took his seat next to Hermione. The Bat-Dude gave the entire class a menacing look of menace. "As I was saying before Potter interrupted, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far-"

"Please, sir, we've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows," said Hermione quickly. "And we're just about to start-"

"Be quiet," interrupted the Bat-Dude. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organisation."

"He's the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher we've ever had," said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class. America would have put his two bits in, but he was worried about losing points. _Considering our previous Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers have been the turban-squirrel and Glinda the Sparkly Wizard, the bar was never very high._

"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly over-taxing you – I would expect first-years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss-" The Bat-Dude paused to flick through the pages of the textbook, skipping all the way to the last chapter. "- werewolves."

"Wait, there are _werewolves_ in this thing?!" America pulled his _Monster Book of Monsters _open with enough force that it let out a whimper of complaint and started leafing through it. "AWESOME!"

"Five points from Gryffindor," drawled the Bat-Dude.

"But, sir," said Hermione, before America could respond to this flagrant injustice. "We're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start Hinkypunks-"

"Miss Granger," said the Bat-Dude, in a voice of deadly calm. "I was under the impression that I was teaching this lesson, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page three hundred and ninety-four." He gave everyone that menacing look of menace again. "_All _of you! _Now!_" America seemed to be the only one excited about learning about werewolves, but then he remembered that it was the Bat-Dude teaching them, and he felt just as sullen and mutinous as his classmates. "Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" Hermione was the only one to raise her hand, which meant that it was a ridiculously difficult question no normal student would ever know the answer to. The Bat-Dude ignored her. "Anyone?" America tentatively raised his hand. "Anyone _else_?" When nobody else raised a hand, he sighed and said, "Very well, Mr. Jones, do you have the answer?"

"Uh, wait until sunrise and see whether they turn into a human?" America offered. He was pleased to hear a few snickers.

The Bat-Dude was not amused. "If you enjoy getting your throat ripped out, I suppose that is one method."

Hermione couldn't take it anymore and said, "Please, sir, the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf-"

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said the Bat-Dude coolly. "Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Hermione's hand fell to her lap as she stared down at the ground with a very red face and tears in her eyes. America's eyes narrowed as he glared at the Bat-Dude. _Not cool, dude. _He was ready to give him a piece of his mind, but Ron beat him to the punch (only figuratively, sadly). "You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?" The rest of the class gave a collective gasp and stared at him as if he'd tossed himself into a pit of snakes. Which he might as well have, considering the way the Bat-Dude advanced on him menacingly.

"Detention, Weasley," he said, his face rather too close to Ron's for comfort. "And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."

Everybody was very well-behaved for the rest of the lesson, though America made sure to doodle more nasty situations the Bat-Dude could find himself in. Between the subject matter (the textbook kept referring to creatures they hadn't learned about yet) and the Bat-Dude continuing his criticism of everything Professor Lupin had ever taught them, it was a huge relief when the bell finally rang. Then the Bat-Dude had to ruin it by giving them a horrifyingly long piece of homework.

As soon as he was out of earshot, America decided to start ranting. "Why the hell is that dude allowed to be a teacher? Seriously! He belongs at the top of a huge, dark tower plotting world domination, not a school! And what is his problem with Professor Lupin? I mean, I know he wants his job, but he wasn't nearly this bad about the turban-squirrel and Glinda the Sparkly Wizard! I mean, seriously, dudes, it's just - I can't – words – don't – GRRAAAH!" He punched a nearby wall. Words could not express his hatred of the Bat-Dude.

"Deep breaths, Alfred," said Harry. "But… you do have a point. Why's he got it in for Lupin? D'you think this is all because of the Boggart?"

"I don't know," said Hermione pensively. "But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon…" America couldn't help but notice her surreptitiously examine the wall he'd punched. He suddenly felt very glad that he'd had enough self-control not to use enough force to leave damage on the stone. He needed to be more careful if he wanted to keep his identity secret. _Then again, would it really be so bad if they knew…? Lying to them all the time makes me feel like a totally awful friend. _Then he imagined England's reaction and pushed the matter to the back of his mind. Telling a few white lies was better than getting turned into a toad.

**A/N: I'm really sorry this took so long, everybody. APOLOGIES-FOR-TARDINESS HUGS! \\(^-^)/ I feel like I give those out a lot. I've been having trouble getting inspired, but I'll do my best to update more frequently. Now that that's out of the way, Q&amp;A time! To TheChibitalian47: Um, I don't really like travelling, but I'll take it under advisement. To Guest: You're right about being wrong. What gave you the impression I was in London? Was my writing particularly British? Sweet dreams, bunny-chan. NEXT CHAPTER: Canada is way too conflicted over a school sporting event. See you all next time!**


	20. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: AGONY, MISERY, WOE**

It was amazing how matted Kumahieronymus' fur had become. Canada had only really noticed because ever since he'd woken up he'd found himself anxiously fiddling with it. It was the day of the first Quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Or at least it was _supposed _to be, but due to some admittedly horrendous weather conditions Slytherin had pulled out, and the Hufflepuff team had taken their place. Now what had once been a straightforward 'cheer on Harry so that he can beat the tar out of Malfoy' event had become a 'cheer on Cedric Diggory so he can beat the tar out of Harry' event. Cedric was a nice guy, but not supporting Harry left a sour taste in Canada's mouth.

Kumakuro let out a growl as Canada pulled roughly at one particular tangle. He quickly pulled his hands out of biting range as the bear slunk out of his lap and disappeared beneath the table. Canada sighed and tried to turn his attention to his untouched breakfast. His stomach was turning in too many knots for him to feel like he could eat without throwing up. Someone nudged him, making him jump. "Sorry," he said automatically.

"Are you feeling all right, Matthew?" asked Hannah. Canada had been so caught up in his thoughts he'd forgotten she was there. "You've been acting weird all day."

"I'm fine. Just nervous about the match, eh," Canada replied. To prove his fineness, he grabbed his spoon and started eating, while his mind was still metaphorically wringing its hands and fretting its heart out.

"Um, are you sure you're fine?" said Hannah.

"Of course I am," said Canada.

"It's just that you're, er, trying to eat porridge with a fork."

Canada blinked and actually looked at his bowl. "Oh… yes, it appears I am, eh." He exchanged the fork for a spoon, trying to ignore the sudden heat in his cheeks.

"I'm a bit worried about the match, too, to be honest," said Hannah. "I think I saw some lightning earlier. I'm not surprised Slytherin backed out. I hope nobody gets hurt…"

"I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let anyone get struck by lightning," Canada reassured her. _Then again, considering that this is a sport where they have cannonballs flying around actively trying to injure the players, maybe the danger of getting electrocuted would be considered part of the fun._ He pushed his bowl away, suddenly feeling rather queasy.

Someone bumped into him from behind. "Sorry," he said automatically.

"Oh, hello, Matthew, didn't see you there," said Ernie Macmillan. "Say, the match is going to start soon. Best get a move on before all the good seats are taken. You, too, Hannah."

"Thanks, Ernie," said Hannah as Ernie strode off towards the door. "Well, ready to go, Matthew?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," said Canada. He leaned back so he could see Kumajumbo in his hiding place beneath the table. "Wanna go see some Quidditch?" The bear peeked his head out, took one look at the ceiling, and went right back. Canada sighed. "All right. I'll see you later, eh. Let's go, Hannah." The two of them stood and went out into the Entrance Hall.

No sooner had they crossed the threshold, however, misfortune struck. Canada froze in his tracks as he saw that Harry had chosen the same moment to start heading to the pitch. "Hello, Matthew," he said, sounding rather glum.

Guilt wracked Canada's heart. "I am so, so, so, so, so, so, so sorry, Harry!"

Harry seemed rather taken aback. "Er, Matthew, what are you-"

"You're one of my best friends, and I think really highly of you, but I… I have to side with my people, eh. I hope you may one day find it within your heart to forgive my betrayal."

"Your betra- Matthew, it's just a Quidditch match, calm down," said Harry.

Canada's eyes were starting to get misty. "Y-you're so nice, Harry… It makes my actions all the more heinous… I'M SORRY!" With that he ran outside before Harry could make him feel even worse.

That turned out to not have been such a good idea, since Canada's own misery was nothing compared to that of the weather. He pulled up the hood of his cloak against the downpour, but in weather like this he got the feeling it wouldn't do much good. _I really should have brought an umbrella. _No sooner had he thought that than a rogue umbrella flew by only a few inches from his face. _Okay, maybe it's a good thing I didn't bring one._ He decided it would be best to simply sprint to the pitch to minimize the time spent in the completely-unsuitable-for-sporting-events-of-any-kind weather. And so he did.

Once he was in the stands, Justin Finch-Fletchley was nice enough to let Canada take refuge under the umbrella he had miraculously maintained a hold of. Hannah and Ernie, once they arrived, also squeezed under it. The result was rather crowded, but they were all dry, warm, and with the four of them all holding onto the umbrella the chances of it getting blown away were greatly reduced. Canada felt a bit guilty that they weren't able to let Zacharias Smith join them when he asked, but the others were very quick to reassure him that it was fine.

At long last, the two Quidditch teams emerged from their dressing rooms and stepped onto the field. Or, at least, Canada was pretty sure they had. It was a bit difficult to tell in all the rain. If so, at least he wasn't alone in his mistake, judging from all the cheering. Even from the opposite side of the stadium in extremely loud winds, he thought he could single out America's voice. It felt rather odd for Canada not to have to worry about his brother finally rendering him deaf with his yelling. Not necessarily bad (Canada quite liked his hearing), but just slightly off, like… eh…

He was so distracted trying to think of an appropriate simile that he only noticed the teams taking off because of the sudden increase in the volume of the cheering. As the game went on, however, even devoting his full attention wasn't enough to be sure of what was going on. The rain quickly soaked all the players' robes, darkening them to the point that it was nearly impossible to distinguish who was on which team. Lee Jordan's commentary was no help. "Looks like Alicia Spinnet of the Gryffindor team- oh, wait, sorry, that's Heidi Macavoy of Huff- no, hold on – okay, _someone_ has the Quaffle!" The cheering became extremely haphazard, with supporters of both teams cheering for every action because they thought it was one of their team's members who had benefited from it.

Someone must have been able to keep track of it, because when a time-out was called at the first flash of lightning, Gryffindor was fifty points ahead. Canada checked his watch. _The sun should be setting soon. I really hope Harry or Cedric catch the Snitch before them. I don't like their chances of doing it in the dark. _He had scarcely come to this conclusion when the players were all back in the air and the sporadic cheering began again. His wish quickly began to materialize as Cedric hurtled across the pitch toward a flash of gold. Harry didn't follow suit. In fact, he was going in the opposite direction. _What on Earth is he doing? _Canada followed his line of sight and thought he caught a glimpse of some kind of animal in the glow of a flash of lightning, but it was only for a moment.

Canada thought he heard the Gryffindor team captain yelling something, and Harry was suddenly turning around and pelting towards Cedric. Canada couldn't breathe for excitement… though, wasn't excitement not supposed to be this cold and clammy? The cheering quickly petered out until silence reigned with an iron fist. He felt Hannah shiver next to him and heard Justin stutter, "I-is is just me, or d-did it suddenly get r-really cold?" Canada saw a mass of black shapes approaching the stadium. _No…. nonononono, not them… _He squeezed his eyes shut, like a child employing the tactic of 'maybe if I can't see the monster, it can't see me'.

It didn't work. Dementors were the kind of monsters you'd fear were living under the bed, but they didn't play by storybook rules. Canada barely had time to whimper, "Oh, maple," before he was plunged into the icy cold depths of horrid memory.

**A/N: Well, so much for updating more frequently. Doing more schoolwork = less time for fanfics, I guess. HUGS! \\(^-^)/ While writing this chapter I took a look at the Hetalia identification chart, and noticed that Canada was described as calm. *glances guiltily at nervous-wreck-Canada I have been writing* ... Oops. Also, I saw the 'Davie' episode of the anime and all I have to say is *unintelligible undignified sobbing*. For Q&amp;A, the only question other than 'Please update more frequently' *clears throat awkwardly* was about why a Munchkin suddenly popped up. I thought it was implied, but I guess I could have been more clear that it was a half-asleep England mistaking Professor Flitwick for a Munchkin. Thank you all for sticking with me. NEXT CHAPTER: America is relieved to find that Snape did not murder Lupin and hide the body in a closet. See you all next time!**


	21. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY: NUMBER ONE IN BEDSIDE MANNER**

America woke with a start. Normally, the worst that this would result in was getting so tangled up in his blankets that it was like being trapped by Devil's Snare, or rolling off the side of his bed. This time, however, he wasn't in a bed. Instead, someone had slung his arm over their shoulders and was half-carrying, half-dragging him along. The result was the mysterious carrier getting punched in the ear and dropping him to the muddy ground in surprise.

"Oh, Alfred, you're awake!" It took a moment for the disoriented America to recognize Hermione standing above him. It was a bit hard, since her usually bushy hair was straight and lank from all the rain it had been exposed to. "How are you feeling?"

"Uh… discombobulated?" America looked around. Ron was standing nearby, rubbing his ear and looking rather grumpy. It seemed he'd managed to drag America about halfway from the Quidditch pitch to the castle. _The Quidditch pitch! _America sat bolt upright. "Did we win?" The look Hermione and Ron exchanged said it all. Alfred got to his feet and snarled, "All right, dudes, that's it, those Dementors are getting the righteous right hook of justice!"

Hermione grabbed his sleeve before he could take so much as a single step. "There's no need for that, Alfred. Dumbledore's already taken care of them."

"Dumbledore punched them in the face?" asked America, his respect for the headmaster skyrocketing.

"Alfred, I think we need to have a talk about your obsession with punching," said Hermione. "But, no, he shot some kind of silver stuff at them that scared them off after he saved Harry."

"Saved Harry?" asked America. "Did he have _another _adventure without me?!"

"If you call falling off your broom fifty feet in the air an adventure, sure," grumbled Ron. "Pretty sure he was passed out, though, so he didn't get to… 'enjoy' it."

America threw his arms into the air in exasperation. "Oh, come on! I can't believe he keeps outdoing me at getting attention! NOBODY out-dramas the Uni-" _Oh, crap. _He quickly switched tracks. "Un-unbeatable Alfred Jones!" _I really need to work on this whole 'don't arouse suspicion' thing._

"Harry's just special that way," said Ron gloomily.

"Well, it's good to see you're… um… fine," said Hermione delicately.

_Am I fine? _America was surprised by how chipper he was feeling, considering the wreck he'd been last time he met a Dementor. "Yeah, me too," he said. "I guess Dementors are like poison. Deal with it once, and you're immune!"

"Alfred, I don't think that's how poison-"

"It totally is! The Princess Bride wouldn't lie to me!"

"Westley spent years building up that immunity bit by bit, if I recall. He certainly didn't just… just down a whole bottle at once!"

Ron cleared his throat. "I have no idea what you two are talking about, but we should probably go check up on Harry."

America gasped in horror. "OMG, dude, that's right! You've never seen a movie, have you? Let me fill the void in your life!" And that was why, when the three of them arrived in the Hospital Wing, America was excitedly lecturing a spectacularly nonplussed Ron about all his favourite movies.

The whole Gryffindor Quidditch team was huddled around a bed, obscuring the occupant from view, though it was obviously Harry. Canada was there, too, standing slightly to the side. He waved at America as they entered. America advanced on him immediately. "Yo, Die Hard is totally a Christmas movie, right?"

Canada seemed rather caught off guard. "Eh, I… I don't… Why are you asking?"

America melodramatically clutched at his chest. "Et tu, Mattie?"

"Just ignore him," sighed Hermione. She turned to look at Harry. "How is he?"

"Well, he's breathing," said Angelina Johnson. "No idea when he'll wake up, though." America looked at Harry, too. His chest was indeed rising and falling rhythmically. He was still covered in mud, but he looked intact as far as America could tell.

Satisfied, he turned back to Canada. "So, Die Hard, Christmas movie, yes or no?"

Canada hugged his pet bear to his chest. "Um… well… I suppose that it _does _take place on Christmas… and it has a couple Christmas songs…"

America pumped his fist in the air. "YES! I knew you'd side with me, bro! See, Hermione? He agrees!"

Hermione was not amused. "Alfred, Harry nearly died. Would you mind postponing your movie debates?"

America sighed. "Fine, Debbie Downer. I'll just mope with the rest of you, then." He sat down on a neighbouring bed and put on his best mopey face. The others began whispering among themselves about how horrible it was that Harry had brushed against death yet again. Say what you would about him, the kid had a talent for attracting interesting events. America stayed out of the conversation. Now that he didn't have movie discussions to distract him, it seemed as though the Dementor-induced visions were taking effect. His mopey expression became a whole lot more authentic, though he still felt leagues better than he had last time. Canada was refraining from joining the conversation as well, and also looked rather depressed. _Not too surprising. I'm sure he'll be fine, though. He dealt with it way better than I did last time._

A few minutes later, Professor Flitwick entered carrying a rather large bag in his tiny arms and looking rather grave. "We… found Mr. Potter's broomstick," he said, dropping it by Hermione's feet. America felt uneasy when he realized that there was no way an intact broom would fit into that bag. "I'm afraid that it had an unfortunate encounter with the Whomping Willow."

Hermione opened the bag, and her expression confirmed America's fears. "I-I see. Thank you, Professor." Professor Flitwick left, and the whispering started up again. Since nobody seemed keen on changing the subject, America tuned it out and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. _I really shouldn't be feeling so un-upset,_ he thought to himself. _I mean, I know I'm pretty shallow, but this is just… weird. Maybe it's just taking a while to really hit me? Maybe I'll start feeling like crying once Harry's done stealing all the attention again. Wait, what am I saying? Or thinking, or whatever! I should be feeling good about this, right? I faced down Dementors, and I don't feel like weeping like a baby-child! Cheer up, me! You've done way too much moping this year already! Everything's-_

Right as he was getting to the good part of his internal pep-talk, Fred interrupted him. "Harry! How are you feeling?" America sat up. Harry's eyes had opened, though they seemed a bit unfocused and his expression was one of sleepy confusion.

Abruptly, his eyes widened and he sat up as well. "What happened?"

"You fell off," said Fred. "Must've been – what – fifty feet?"

"We thought you'd died," said Alicia, who was shaking. Hermione made a squeaking noise, and America noticed that her eyes were bloodshot. _Wait, she was crying? When did that happen? I guess that's what I get for internally monologuing._

But Harry had far greater concerns than his own life. "But the match! What happened? Are we having a replay?" No one said anything. Harry's face crumpled. "We didn't – _lose?_"

"Diggory got the Snitch," said George. "Just after you fell. He didn't realise what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a re-match. But they won fair and square… even Wood admits it."

"Where is Wood?" asked Harry, looking around as if expecting him to jump out from under a hospital bed.

"Still in the showers," said Fred. "We think he's trying to drown himself." Harry curled up into a fetal position.

"Hey, don't worry about it, eh," said Canada, shaking his shoulder gently. "It… it's just a game. It doesn't really matter. Nobody's going to care in ten years whether or not you caught a Snitch when you were thirteen." The Quidditch players stared at him with expressions bordering on contempt. Canada sheepishly retreated as everyone started discussing the statistics of how much the other teams had to screw up in order for Gryffindor to pull through. America decided to simply observe and see how long they could keep it up. They were still going strong ten minutes later when Madam Pomfrey bustled in and told them to leave.

"We'll come see you later," said Fred to Harry. "Don't beat yourself up, Harry, you're still the best Seeker we've ever had." The team trooped out, leaving America, Canada, Ron, and Hermione by Harry's side.

"So, uh, what exactly happened once the Dementors turned up, dudes?" asked America.

Hermione, as always, stepped up to the plate to explain. "Dumbledore was really angry. I've never seen him like that before. He ran onto the pitch as you fell, Harry, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the Dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away… he was furious they'd come into the grounds, we heard him-"

"Then he magicked you onto a stretcher," said Ron. "And walked up to school with you floating on it. Everyone thought you were…" His voice faded away.

"Hey, come I didn't get a stretcher?" America demanded.

"We didn't fall fifty feet, Alfred," Canada pointed out.

"We tried to get Madam Pomfrey's attention, but she was too busy with Harry," said Hermione. "And… this has happened before, so we knew you'd wake up soon enough."

"So you decided to drag me along back to the castle?"

"Uh… yeah?" said Ron. He turned to Canada. "That reminds me, Matthew, how did you get here so fast?"

Canada fiddled with Kuma…whatever's fur nervously. "Oh, um, well, Ernie and Justin carried me back part of the way, and I guess I must have woken up sooner than Alfred did, so I was able to move faster?"

"Did someone get my Nimbus?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Yeah, uh, about that…" said America. "You might want to sit down." Harry gave him a look that pretty clearly said _I'm already sitting down, you idiot. _"It kind of, um… met the Whomping Willow." He got up and picked up the bag Professor Flitwick had dropped off. He opened it and looked inside. "Whoa, it looks like it went through a wood chipper, dude! How did that tree even do that?" He looked up to see Hermione and Ron glaring at him while Canada did a facepalm. "What?"

**A/N: Hello, everyone. Long time no see. Sorry about that. Since these chapters are taking so long to come out, extra hugs for everyone! \\(^-^)/ \\(^-^)/ Thank you all for your support. It's rather funny how heartening it can be to receive praise from random strangers on the internet. Sorry about lying in the last chapter, but I found that I couldn't simply skip over this part. Also, am I the only who thinks Fred and George are way nicer to Harry than they are to Ron? Jeez, it seems like most of the Weasleys treat Harry better than Ron. No wonder he gets a chip on his shoulder. Anyway, no questions this time, so I'll just wrap this up. NEXT CHAPTER: England tries to enjoy a trip to Hogsmeade before the end of term. ****_Tries _****to. See you all next time!**


	22. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: BROTHERLY LOVE**

England walked out the front door of the castle and paused to take a deep breath. The air was fresh and cold. A bit too cold, actually. He sneezed and continued on his way to Hogsmeade. The life of a teacher was even busier than he'd thought it would be. Between planning his classes, teaching his classes, marking homework, and patrolling the halls keeping an eye out for misbehaving students and escaped murderers, he'd abruptly realized that morning that he hadn't left the castle for four days. The fact that he'd come to this realization while creating a model of the old Globe Theatre out of Exploding Snap cards suggested that he'd been going a bit stir crazy. It was a Hogsmeade trip today, a day off, and he was going to take every advantage of it he could, starting with a pub.

Not that being a teacher didn't have its perks, of course. He'd been able to walk straight past Filch without being subjected to his leering and halitosis, and therefore get ahead of the veritable horde of students trying to have a break of their own. He was alone with his thoughts as he made his way across the grounds, which suited him quite well.

It was only two weeks until Christmas break. He hadn't received any more Howlers from Wales, so he was reasonably confident that it would actually be a break and not a race against time to clear up any international incidents his brother had caused. Actually, he hadn't had any sort of communication with any of his brothers since that Howler. No ticking packages from Northern Ireland, no surprise visits from Scotland, and certainly nothing from his sister. He was starting to feel a bit lonely without anyone swearing at him and telling him he was the single worst thing in all of existence on a regular basis. America was around to laugh at him, but it just wasn't quite the same. _I am missing my family. Dear lord, I need help. And by help, I mean a drink._

He managed to get all the way to Hogsmeade and was just approaching the Three Broomsticks before, as he knew deep in his heart would happen, someone bothered him. "Oh, Arthur, there you are!" England turned around to see Filius waving at him. Standing next to him were Hagrid, McGonagall, and the Minister of Magic. He did a double take. _What's the Minister of Magic doing here? _Fudge looked at him curiously, and he was reminded that what with one thing and another, he'd never properly introduced himself to his magical boss. _And, frankly, I'd prefer it to remain that way._

But still, he was a gentleman, no matter how many times people snickered derisively when he said it, and ignoring them would be poor manners. "Hello," he said, his voice tinged with awkwardness and a wish to be anywhere but here even to his own ears.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met before," said Fudge, holding out a hand. "Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. I'm sure you've heard of me."

Swearing inwardly, England shook his hand. "Arthur…" He hesitated, wondering whether he could get away with giving a false surname. Then he remembered that there were three people standing nearby who would most definitely correct him, and decided to bite the bullet. "… Kirkland. I just started teaching History of Magic this year."

He might as well not have bothered with the last sentence, because Fudge's eyes lit up at the mention of his last name. "Kirkland? One of the famous Kirklands?"

"No, one of the non-famous Kirklands," England said sarcastically. He pulled his hand from Fudge's steely grip and cast a longing look at the Three Broomsticks. It might have only been his imagination, but he swore the scent of Butterbeer and other, stronger drinks were wafting from it invitingly.

Fudge laughed. "Ah, yes, _definitely _a Kirkland. Your family's reputation precedes you." His voice became ever so slightly bitter as he said, "Sadly, I only know your family _by _reputation. You seem to have let your ties with the Ministry… stagnate."

England cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, er, things have been… hectic for us for the last little while."

"'The last little while' being thirteen years?" asked Fudge.

"Well, you know what they say, time flies like an arrow, fruit flies… like… a banana…" England would have found the looks the teachers and Minister were wearing hilarious if they hadn't been directed at him. _Best to change the subject. _"So, heading to the Three Broomsticks, Filius?"

"Yes!" squeaked Filius, clearly relieved to get off that topic. "Care to join us?"

"A drink would be _very _welcome right about now." It was probably the single most honest sentence England had ever uttered. He turned and marched toward the pub before any more awkward conversation could happen without alcohol present.

The Three Broomsticks was like popular pubs the world over – just a tad uncomfortably warm from the heat of dozens of cheerful, animated bodies, loud enough that you needed a slight transitional period before you could hold an audible conversation with someone without yelling, and a smell that you really hoped didn't pertain to a disaster (in this case, smoke). It was rather more family-friendly than most of the establishments England visited, though. It didn't feel quite like a proper watering hole if there wasn't someone slumped over at the bar staring at their drink as if they wanted to drown in it and more than happy to start on a nihilistic rant on the futility of life if you so much as said 'hello' to them. Once he was finished here, he might just pay the Hog's Head a visit to scratch that particular bizarre itch.

England followed his newly acquired compatriots to a table next to a Christmas tree, grabbing a chair from a nearby miraculously empty table for himself. They had barely sat down when a pretty, curvy woman approached with drinks. "A small Gillywater-"

"Mine," said McGonagall.

"Four pints of mulled mead-"

"Ta, Rosmerta," said Hagrid.

"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella-"

"Mmm!" said Filius, smacking his lips.

"And the redcurrant rum would be…?" Rosmerta looked between England and Fudge.

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," said Fudge, grabbing his drink. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us…"

"Well, thank you very much, Minister" said Rosmerta. She turned to England. "And you will have…?"

"Ogden's Old Firewhisky, please," he said.

Rosmerta gave him a bit of an odd look, but nodded and marched off. She quickly returned, placed England's drink in front of him, and sat down. "So, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Minister?" she asked. England felt a bit like kicking himself for not asking such an obvious question. Instead he decided to punish himself by poisoning his liver with Firewhisky. Yes, truly, it was a terrible punishment.

Fudge checked for eavesdroppers, then said in a quiet voice, "What else, m'dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Hallowe'en?" England blinked as his vision went a bit blurry. He didn't remember Firewhisky being quite this strong.

Rosmerta flashed him a somewhat worried look before turning her attention back to Fudge. "I did hear a rumour."

"Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?" said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly. Hagrid couldn't have looked guiltier if he'd… if he'd… done something to incur large amounts of guilt… Seriously, was Rosmerta stocking some kind of super-Firewhisky?

He gave the landlady a searching look, but couldn't find anything of use in her expression as she whispered, "Do you think Black's still in the area, Minister?"

"I'm sure of it."

"Right, because a sane person would definitely hang out in an area crawling with Dementors," said England. "Except… I guess anyone who would kill all those people isn't exactly sane…" _And I stick around, so what does that say about me?_

"You don't know the half of it," said Fudge darkly. "The worst Black did isn't widely known."

"The worst?" said Madam Rosmerta, voice and face alive with curiosity. "Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?"

"I certainly do," said Fudge.

"I can't believe that. What could possibly be worse?"

England stared. Could this woman truly not imagine a crime worse than murder? "Lucky you," he muttered, quietly enough that none of the others seemed to hear him. That thought threatened to send him down a train of thought that ran through a very dark and bleak tunnel, so he took another gulp of Firewhisky and tried to pay attention to the conversation.

"You remember him at Hogwarts, don't you, Rosmerta?" murmured McGonagall. "Do you remember who his best friend was?"

"Naturally," Rosmerta laughed. "Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here – ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!" England was very glad he hadn't taken that gulp a moment later, because he most certainly would have choked. He thought he heard a clunk nearby, but ignored it.

"Precisely," said McGonagall. "Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course – exceptionally bright, in fact – but I don't think we've ever had such a pair of troublemakers –"

"I dunno," chuckled Hagrid. "Fred and George Weasley could give 'em a run fer their money." England shuddered. However bad Potter and Black were, there was no way they were on par with Scotland and Ireland back when they were at Hogwarts. There was a reason Peeves still thought of the former as his best friend. And, of course, England had been their favourite victim.

He pushed those traumatic memories back where they came from, but Filius drew them out again by saying, "You'd have thought Black and Potter were brothers! Inseparable!" 'Inseparable' was certainly not the first word England associated with 'brothers'. Unless you counted those centuries he and Wales spent as essentially one country, but he wasn't sure it counted if the other person kept trying to become separate. He took another drink.

"Of course they were," said Fudge. "Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily. Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him." England felt like he should feel shocked, but the brain-whisky-fog wouldn't let him. All he could think was that if he ever got married and somehow had children, his brothers would probably be the last people he'd have as a best man or godfather.

"Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?" whispered Rosmerta.

"Hey, spoilers!" said England indignantly. The others stared at him with that look again. He gestured to his drink. "This stuff is really strong, okay?" Rosmerta gave a nervous twinge that the fog told him not to worry about.

"Worse even than that…" Fudge dropped his voice. "Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn't an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them that their best chance was the Fidelius Charm."

"How does that work?" said Rosmerta.

"Basically, it's a spell that makes it so that nobody can find a place unless a super special person called the Secret-Keeper tells them about it," said England. "When we were little, my older-older brothers and sister used it on their treehouse so my younger-older brother and I couldn't bother them."

"How old were they when they did that?" asked Filius, aghast. "The Fidelius Charm is immensely complex!"

"Don't really remember," said England truthfully, swirling his drink around the bottom of his glass. "Firewhisky is pretty."

"So Black was Potters' Secret-Keeper?" asked Rosmerta after a moment of awkward silence.

"Naturally," said McGonagall. "James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself… and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potters' Secret-Keeper himself."

"He suspected Black?" gasped Rosmerta.

"He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-know-Who informed of their movements," said McGonagall darkly. "Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who."

"But James Potter insisted on using Black?"

"He did," said Fudge heavily. "And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed-"

"Black betrayed them?" breathed Rosmerta.

The fog in England's head thickened, and Fudge's response sounded like something out of a Charlie Brown cartoon. He could guess what he was saying, anyway. Black stabbed the elder Potter in the back, only to find that when the dust had settled the person he'd done the stabbing for had gotten killed by a baby. Obviously, James had been an only child. If he'd had an actual brother he'd know what arseholes they could be.

He was brought out of his reverie by Hagrid suddenly yelling, "Filthy, stinkin' turncoat!" England started with such a jerk that he fell out of his chair. He struggled back onto his seat, his head-fog deciding to pay a visit to his limbs and making it very difficult. On the way up he vaguely noted that the Christmas tree seemed to have legs. _Am I sure this stuff isn't Fireabsinthe?_ Hagrid was still yelling, but it all seemed to blend into an enraged roar in England's ears. He tuned it out and simply stared at his drink. The part of his mind that was still sober told him two things. One, he should really be paying attention to this story. And two, even if Alistair was right about how much of a light-weight he was, he shouldn't be this drunk already and needed to figure out how it had happened. But it was a very small part of his mind, so he ignored it and instead focused on much less successfully ignoring the ominous churning feeling in his stomach.

The conversation got a bit quieter, but the Charlie Brown sound effects continued. He only regained his hearing when a hand abruptly pulled his glass from his grip, causing what felt like an adrenaline rush. "Hey!"

McGonagall pursed her lips and stared suspiciously at his glass. "Kirkland, were you drinking before you came here?"

"No, give it back!" he said, reaching for it. McGonagall slid the glass over to Hagrid.

"Um, Professor Kirkland?" asked Rosmerta tentatively. "One of those older brothers you mentioned wouldn't happen to be named Alistair, would he?"

"Yes," said England, the fog in his brain becoming icy with dread.

"Ah," said Rosmerta, looking rather guilty. "Then I think I understand. Alistair did me a favour back in the summer, and in return he only asked to be allowed to cast a spell on my stock."

England clutched his throat. "Oh, God, he's poisoned me! That son of a-"

"He didn't poison it!" Rosmerta said quickly. "He said it would just make it a lot stronger, and it would only activate if you were the one drinking it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, I should have known it was you. Even with the accent, I've never seen anyone else with those eyebrows."

England glared at the Christmas tree, having no better target. "Back in the summer, huh? I thought he looked far too pleased with himself when he came to the castle. But still… he just made it a bit stronger? Nothing else?"

"I don't know for sure, but I don't think so," said Rosmerta. "He seemed content with simply letting you get drunk and doing something embarrassing."

"Me? Do something embarrassing?" England shook his head. "I am the quintessential gentleman, Madam Rosmerta. Alistair's clearly losing his touch." He tugged at his collar. "It's rather hot in here, isn't it? Wizards make their robes so bulky…"

"Arthur, you'd better get back to the castle, eh?" England jumped out of his chair again. America had somehow materialized by his shoulder.

"Alfred, what are you doing here?" England demanded, scrambling to his feet.

"I'm Matthew," said Canada glumly.

"Oh. Right. Sorry, Matthew. Don't worry, I'm feeling fine, just… really hot for some reason." He pulled off his travelling cloak, but it wasn't quite enough.

Canada's eyes widened with something akin to panic. "Arthur, I think it would be a really, _really _good idea for you to head on back and get some rest, okay?"

England laughed and ruffled Canada's hair. "You're such a worrier, Matthew. If you keep that up your face is gonna get stuck like that."

For a moment, Canada gave him an odd look. Part of England's brain rose from the drunken fog and labelled it as 'worryingly calculating', pulling up a memory of him wearing that exact same look shortly before suggesting how to get America to open his letters back in the revolution. But then it slipped, fell, and was forgotten. Canada bit his lip and leaned closer to England, whispering in his ear, "I-I don't want to go past the Dementors by myself."

England's protective instincts, though long disused, broke through his drunken stupor. "Oh, all right." He pulled the cloak back on and turned to the others. "I'm heading back. See you all later... except for you, Minister, I kind of hope I never have to see you again in person."

**A/N: I'm sure you'll all be glad to know I'm not dead, just lazy and trying to deal with a plot bunny epidemic. HUGS! \\(^-^)/ This chapter is longer than usual, but since it took so long I suppose it's only fair. I apologize for any mistakes I made, it's the middle of the night, but my muse called to me and she pretty much never calls because she is extremely fickle and I should really get a new one and that metaphor got away from me a bit. And now for Q&amp;A! To 95Jezzica: I probably should do something like that, shouldn't I? I figure England's had more experience with Dementors, so he can deal with them a bit better. But still, it's always good to spread the misery around. To Guest: Yep, same dream. To MissAmerica13: Not good at all indeed. He'll probably get over it eventually, but not any time soon. To (other) Guest: Who cares about one of their best friends being hunted down by a convicted criminal, PARTY TIME! To SquidneyTsu: Wow, that's a lot of text. 1) I don't know, we'll have to see. 2) I think the Slytherins who know of the Kirklands must be thinking 'Kirkland's not such an unusual name, there's no way this guy is one of them'. 3) Yes, yes they are because I'm running out of ideas. You'll know I've hit rock bottom when I call him Kumantidisestablishmentarianism. Thank you all once again for being such wonderful and beautiful people. NEXT CHAPTER: America has some rather skewed priorities. See you all next time, and I apologize in advance for how long it will take!**


	23. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: TRUE MEANING**

"CANADAAAAAAA!"

Canada sighed. "Gosh darn it, America, I'd just gotten that door fixed."

"Oh, uh, whoops?" America shoved the door back in its frame and stepped away. It promptly fell over. "Hold on, I got it." He picked it up and put it back. It fell over again. "I GOT THIS!" He shoved the door with more force. It stayed put. "See? Fixed."

"Yes, very well done," said Canada, trying to keep the sarcasm in his voice to a minimum. He put down the box of Christmas decorations he'd been carrying. "So, something's up, eh?"

"Oh, yean, right!" America's expression turned from triumph to extremely melodramatic sorrow as he closed the distance between them and shoved a letter in Canada's face. "Malfoy Prime's trying to kill my favourite eagle horse!"

It was a testament to the bond between them that it only took Canada a moment to translate that statement into something resembling coherent English. "What? I thought he got kicked off the board of governors."

"Yeah, but he's still basically a magical James Bond villain, so it's not like it had much effect," said America. "Are you gonna read the letter or not?"

Canada took the letter and did so.

_Dear Alfred,_

_ I'm sorry to interrupt your vacation, but something awful has happened. Hagrid heard back from the school governors about the incident with Buckbeak. He isn't in any trouble (thank goodness), but Buckbeak is. Malfoy's father lodged a complaint with the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, and they're all in his pocket so Hagrid will need all the help he can get to save Buckbeak. Harry, Ron and I are looking for good precedents in the library, but it would be great if you could ask Professor Kirkland about it. He's the History of Magic professor, after all, surely he must know something useful._

_ I hate to end a letter so depressingly, so on the bright side, this whole matter seems to have taken Harry's mind off things._

_ See you soon,_

_ Hermione._

Canada lowered the letter. "Okay, that… that is very, very bad. We'd better call England."

"Couldn't have said it better myself! Here you go!" America handed him a cell phone.

Canada frowned. "Wait. If you had this, why didn't you just call him yourself?"

"Because you love those eagle horses as much as I do, right? They're awesome! And Hermione totally meant to address it to you, too, obviously."

"Gee, thanks for pointing that out," grumbled Canada.

"No problem!"

"So, why couldn't you have just called me about this? Did you really have to do this in person?"

America's face went oddly blank. "Oh. Huh. Yeah, that… that's a thing I could have done."

Canada sighed. "So, you're telling me that rather than make a quick five-minute phone call briefing me on the situation, you felt compelled to take a several-hour-long flight to my place, eh?"

"Of course not! I drove!"

Canada fought down the urge to facepalm. "Let's… let's just call England, shall we?" He punched the familiar number into the cell phone and put it on speakerphone while it rang.

England picked up quickly. "What?" he asked irritably.

"England! Malfoy Prime's trying to kill an eagle horse!"

"… America, I understand that you've developed your own dialect, but that made no sense whatsoever."

"He means Lucius Malfoy is trying to get Buckbeak the Hippogriff executed," Canada translated.

"He WHAT?!" England's voice became a bit muffled, as if he had turned his head away from the phone, but knowing England it was probably various imaginative vulgarities. He got it out of his system soon enough and turned back to the phone. "Have you got any more details?"

Canada looked at the letter again. "Eh… not really. Sorry."

"I see. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures is still in charge of this sort of thing, correct?"

Canada nodded (and immediately felt rather stupid) while America yelled, "Yup, the Committee for the Disposal of… uh… Awesome Creatures? I need time to come up with a good nickname for them."

"I've still got contacts at the Ministry, I'll see what I can do," said England, and hung up.

"That was easy," said America as he put his phone back in his pocket.

"England's got a soft spot for magical creatures," said Canada.

"Yeah, probably because they have magical stomachs that can withstand his cooking. So, what's the plan for Christmas?" In anyone else, such a sudden change of topic would be suspicious. In America, it just meant his train of thought had made a flying leap onto a track fifty miles away, as it was wont to do.

"Well, since there's no party this year, I was thinking of taking it easy," said Canada.

America laughed. "Oh, man, bro, that's hilarious! 'Taking it easy'! Pfffft! So, seriously, what's the plan?"

Canada glared at him. "I'm being serious." America's face fell into one of mingled horror and disbelief. Canada pressed on, knowing that he wouldn't have much of a chance within a minute. "Maybe order in if any place is open, watch _It's A Wonderful Life_, drink some eggnog-"

"NO! No, no, no, no, no, no, no!" America grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "You are not an old man like Iggy, bro! There is nothing more depressing than spending Christmas alone!" He started dragging Canada towards the girl. "Come on, you CLEARLY need someone to teach you the true meaning of Christmas!"

"Consumerism?"

"No!" America paused. "Okay, yeah, kind of, but it's the best kind of consumerism! It's about showing the people you love how much you love them by drowning them in expensive presents they're probably going to use once or twice before shoving it in a closet for eternity!"

"That's… actually pretty true," Canada admitted.

"Yeah! I mean, really, how much use would baby Jesus have for frankincense and myrrh? None! And then the other guy did the biblical equivalent of pulling fifty bucks out of his wallet and shoving it in the card before handing it over."

Canada tried to extricate himself from America's grip, but to no avail. He sighed and resigned himself to his fate. "So, where exactly are we going?"

"A magical place full of Christmas cheer and-"

"It's New York, isn't it?"

America looked at him quizzically. "How were you able to guess that?"

"It's always New York," said Canada.

America looked as if he wanted to argue, but then shrugged and said, "Yeah, it is."

"Can I at least bring my toothbrush?" asked Canada.

"No! We are going on a spontaneous adventure! No packing allowed!"

"You've been watching way too many movies, America."

"There is no such thing as too many movies! Especially when everyone's so busy getting ready for Christmas they can't be bothered to return my calls!"

There was silence for a moment. Canada broke it with, "You _really _don't function well by yourself, do you?"

"Nope! Now let's go, I saw one of those Tim Whatevers you like so much around the corner and I want doughnuts!"

**A/N: Sorry it's so short, guys, but I couldn't think of much to put in here. Buckbeak's in trouble, that's all that really needed to be established. Q&amp;A time! To CSIalchemist: Yes, he's wearing his glasses. To 95Jezzica: I gave it a read, and I really like it! I tried to make a comment, but I don't have an account so it wouldn't let me. I love seeing England interact with his siblings, no matter who's writing them. I am so happy I was able to inspire you :) . In other news, I'm on a bit of a writing roll, so for those interested in my other stories I'm working on the next chapter of Sleepless Nights (Twilight/Hetalia) and I've started a new story called Puella Ferrum Toni Magica (Iron Man/Puella Magi Madoka Magica). Check them out if you like my writing. Validation gives me life. Now that that bit of shameless self-promotion, HUGS! \\(^-^)/ NEXT CHAPTER: America and Canada find that they missed out on a lot back at Hogwarts. See you all next time!**


	24. Chapter 23

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: FACTIONS**

"… You have got to be kidding me."

Harry exchanged nervous glances with Ron. They'd been dreading telling Alfred about the Firebolt, but they'd been expecting melodrama – yelling, snapping whatever he was holding in two, throwing things, declarations that their friendship was over that he'd almost immediately go back on. They weren't expecting such a quiet response. They certainly weren't expecting the cold glare boring holes into them.

"W-we were going to write to you," stammered Ron. "But, you know, i-it wasn't long before you were going to be back, so…"

Alfred took a deep breath. Harry got the feeling that the tantrum he'd been expecting was bubbling below the surface, and Alfred was trying to push it down. "That's not what I'm talking about. Okay, yeah, sure, I do wish you'd told me, but I get why you didn't. What I don't get is why you seem like you're willing to kick one of your best friends out of your life over a broom. I mean, I _get _it, it's a really awesome broom. I'd probably not be talking to someone if they ruined my new sports car. But that's _me_. You're Harry Potter. You're one of the most ridiculously nice people I know, and I have Mattie for a brother. You're like a magical Superman."

Harry blinked, his surprise mounting even higher. "Um… thanks?"

"So, am I allowed to be angry, then?" asked Ron.

"No, you're not. Come on, dude, it's not even your broom!" Alfred rubbed his forehead, forcibly reminding Harry of Professor Kirkland. "Look, Harry, you're rich. Like, those goblins probably have to check your vault regularly for cartoon ducks swimming in all that gold. Just get another broom. If having a super fast one is so important to you, I can always tune it up. It probably won't be a Firebolt, but it'll be pretty good. All right?"

"Um… all right," said Harry, unable to think of another response. His brain had stopped functioning in the face of this bizarre reason and sensibility.

"Good." Alfred yawned and stood up from his chair. "Right, now that that's settled, I'm off to bed. See ya."

Harry and Ron stared blankly at each other as he went up the stairs to the dormitory. Ron was the one to break the silence. "Did we just get told off by Alfred?"

Harry nodded. "I think so." He shifted uncomfortably. "This feels… wrong."

"I know. It's like… something has gone horribly wrong with the universe," said Ron. His eyes suddenly widened in alarm. "Hey, Harry, is your scar feeling all right?"

"Yeah, why?" asked Harry.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. I thought maybe You-Know-Who might've done something."

Harry gaped at him silently for a few moments before rallying. "You… the first explanation you came up with for Alfred being mature was 'Voldemort must've been behind it'?"

Now it was Ron shifting uncomfortably. "Well, y'know, he seems to be behind a lot of the weird stuff that happens around you."

Harry glanced warily at the staircase. "Now that you mention it, I think I might just go to sleep holding my wand tonight."

"You're Harry Potter. Really, you should be going to bed armed every night," said Ron.

Harry sighed. "Funny how all those stories about how great I am fail to mention the part where I'm constantly in mortal danger."

"People like their happily ever afters, I suppose." Ron yawned. "Well, I'm off. If Alfred tries to kill you in the night, then, um… don't let him."

Harry remembered all those times Alfred had shown himself to be an unstoppable punching machine. "I'll… try my best. I think I might just fall asleep here in the common room, thanks."

Alfred wasn't under the thrall of any dark wizards, thankfully, so Harry made it to the start of term alive. This meant that his words had been entirely his own, though, which caused Harry some trouble. He knew Alfred was right, on some level. It was just a broom. But it was the best broom in the world, and even magical Superman could be petty. He knew it was stupid, but every time he worked up the courage to try and talk to Hermione he'd see her face and remember those days he spent staring longingly at the Firebolt in Diagon Alley, and he'd turn on his heel and start walking in the opposite direction. The best excuse he could come up with for himself was that he was thirteen, and according to fiction hitting puberty meant becoming a moody, pouty, acne-covered volcano of hormones. It wasn't a particularly good excuse.

Of course, this meant that a rift had formed between them. It seemed their group of friends had split into factions, Harry and Ron on one side, Hermione and Alfred on the other, with Matthew the only neutral party. He'd made some token attempts at negotiating peace, but it was clear that he didn't expect to succeed and gave up pretty quickly.

Things were still tense on their first day of lessons. Alfred ignored Harry completely during Care of Magical Creatures in favour of building the biggest fire he could for the salamanders they were watching, but Harry got the feeling he would have done that anyway. The most acknowledgment Alfred and Hermione gave him during Divination were derisive snorts when Professor Trelawney declared that Harry had the shortest life-lines she had ever seen. Again, he got the feeling they would have done that for any student.

The only real bright spot in the day was when Harry was able to schedule his first anti-Dementor lesson with Professor Lupin. "Still looks ill, doesn't he?" said Ron, as they walked down the corridor afterwards. "What d'you reckon's the matter with him?"

There was a loud and impatient 'tuh' from behind them. It was Hermione, who had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armour, repacking her bag with Alfred's help, though it seemed so full of books not even his strength could do much.

"What are you tutting at us for?" said Ron irritably.

"Nothing," said Hermione in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her shoulder. Alfred looked at her, Harry and Ron's confusion reflected in his expression.

"Yes, you were," said Ron. "I said I wonder what's wrong with Lupin, and you-"

"Well, isn't it _obvious_?" said Hermione, with a look of maddening superiority.

"Yeah, _seriously_," scoffed Alfred, rather abruptly changing tracks.

"If you don't want to tell us, don't," snapped Ron.

"Fine," said Hermione haughtily, and she marched off.

"Y-yeah, what she said!" Alfred hurried after her, and before they rounded the corner Harry distinctly heard him say, "Okay, uh, what's obvious?"

"She doesn't know," said Ron, staring resentfully after her. "She's just trying to get us to talk to her again. She's probably sick of having no one but Alfred to talk to."

One week, one Anti-Dementor class, and one fortuitous Quidditch match later, Harry found himself trying to get through all his homework in one night. He was doing surprisingly well. Snape's horrible essay on Undetectable Potions had only made him seriously consider jabbing his quill into his eye twice. Ron provided a blessed distraction by muttering, "How's she doing it?" Harry looked up, following his gaze to the tottering pile of books almost completely obscuring Hermione.

"Doing what?"

"Getting to all her classes!" Ron said. "I heard her talking to Professor Vector, that Arithmancy witch, this morning. They were going on about yesterday's lesson, but Hermione can't've been there, because she was with us in Care of Magical Creatures! And Matthew said she and Alfred have never missed a Muggle Studies class, but half of them are at the same time as Divination, and she's never missed one of them, either!"

"So, by your logic, Alfred must be doing something strange, too," said Harry.

"Alfred's always doing something strange," said Ron. Harry glanced at Alfred, who seemed to be taking advantage of the literary barrier between himself and Hermione in order to take a nap without her noticing. Harry shook himself. He didn't have time to ponder the mystery of his friends' impossible timetables at the moment; he really needed to get on with Snape's essay.

He was interrupted again about two seconds later, this time by Wood. "Bad news, Harry. I've just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She – er – got a bit shirty with me. Told me I'd got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn't care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch on it first." Wood shook his head in disbelief. "Honestly, the way she was yelling at me… you'd think I'd said something terrible. Then I asked her how much longer she was going to keep it…" He screwed up his face and imitated Professor McGonagall's severe voice. "'As long as necessary, Wood'."

Alfred's head jerked up. "Because of the law of Equivalent Exchange, Professor!" He blinked. "Wait, since when did we have Transfiguration in the common room?" Hermione hit him on the head with a book.

Wood turned to look at him. "Ah, Alfred! If Harry ordered a new broom, would you work that broomstick magic of yours on it?"

Alfred covered his mouth with his hand and made the strange snorting sound of someone suppressing laughter. Once he'd calmed down he said, "Uh, yeah, sure, totally! Just please don't ever say 'broomstick magic' again."

Wood turned back to Harry, looking very pleased. "Good. It might not be a Firebolt, but it'll definitely be above standard issue. There's an order form at the back of _Which Broomstick_… I wonder what Alfred could do with a Nimbus Two Thousand and One, like Malfoy's got…"

"I'm not buying anything Malfoy thinks is good," said Harry flatly.

Alfred raised his hand. "Uh, dude, I'm pretty sure Malfoy thinks a Firebolt is-" Hermione hit him again. "OW! Was that a bludgeon? Oh, wait, it's just our Muggle Studies textbook."

**A/N: HUGS! \\(^-^)/ Yay, I'm over halfway through the book! Q&amp;A time. To olivia71295: Nope, he got really drunk off-screen to cope with America in full Christmas mode. To Polly Little: If a country gets drunk, I assume the citizens would be unaffected, or else the English would be constantly hung over. I'm not sure which part you're referring to, but feel free to use it in as many cards as you want. To 95Jezzica: Yay, another chapter! :D Okay, for actual questions, I usually try to get around 1500 words per chapter. Last one was 1178 words long. And finally, to Chi-Chi's Poptart: I think that makes it even worse for me. 'Hey, congratulations on creating new life! Here's some herbs you can use when he's dead.' Maybe it's something about the circle of life or the juxtaposition between life and death, but still rather questionable gift choices if you ask me. NEXT CHAPTER: America gets to be friends with Harry and Ron again. See you all next time!**


	25. Chapter 24

** CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: BROOMSTICKS**

America was undertaking an extremely dangerous mission. Stealth was key. Arousing any suspicion could lead to disastrous consequences. He called it Operation: Dust Storm. He needed a better name for it. Whatever its name was, the operation consisted of him hiding a copy of _Which Broomstick_ inside a textbook so that Hermione wouldn't yell at him for trying to help Harry or, far worse and far more likely, for not studying. So far, it was a success. Hermione was so immersed in her books and essays that she'd barely looked at him.

But, of course, no battle plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. An unforeseen distraction appeared in the form of Harry walking into the Common Room carrying a Firebolt. America had the prescience to close the textbook and hide the magazine before leaping to his feet and running over. "DUUUUUUUUDE! So, can we all be friends again?"

Harry nodded and Ron (who America only now really noticed had entered with Harry) said, "Sure, mate."

America grinned. "Sweet! Gimme a sec." He ran back to Hermione. "Yo, Hermione!"

"What is it, Alfred?" she asked wearily, not even looking up.

"Harry's got his Firebolt back, so we can all hang out together again!" His excitement got the better of him and he ran back to Harry before he could see her reaction, pushing his way through the crowd with ease. He spent the next ten minutes or so trying not to drool all over the Firebolt or laugh at the subtext of everyone wanting to touch Harry's broomstick. After that everyone seemed to get bored and go back to their own Firebolt-less lives.

Harry and Ron approached Hermione. "I got it back," said Harry, grinning.

"See, Hermione? There wasn't anything wrong with it!" said Ron.

"Well – there _might _have been!" said Hermione. "I mean, at least you know now that it's safe!"

"Okay, seriously, dudes, if you don't stop fighting I'm going to handcuff you all together until you do," warned America.

"It's fine, Alfred, we're good now," Harry reassured him. He gestured to the Firebolt. "I'd better put it upstairs-"

"I'll take it!" said Ron, snatching the broom so fast America wondered whether he'd learned telekinesis. "I've got to give Scabbers his Rat Tonic." Harry didn't outright refuse right away, so Ron took the opportunity run off back to the dormitory like a thief in the night.

"Can I sit down, then?" Harry asked Hermione.

"I suppose so," said Hermione, moving a great stack of parchment off a chair and onto America's. Hermione was looking really stressed, and America didn't feel like getting jinxed, so he made no comment and just moved the pile onto the floor.

Harry looked at Hermione's enormous pile of work in disbelief. "How are you getting through all this stuff?" he asked her. America opened up his textbook again. He didn't need to look for a new broom anymore, so he started wondering how he was going to dispose of the magazine without Hermione noticing.

"Oh, well – you know – working hard," said Hermione.

"Why don't you just drop a couple of subjects?" Harry asked.

Hermione stared at him as if he'd suggested dropping a baby from the Astronomy Tower. "I couldn't do that!"

"Arithmancy looks terrible," said Harry, picking up a very complicated-looking number chart.

"Hey, Arithmancy is _great_!" said America. "It's like Divination with numbers instead of stupid!"

"Yes, it's-" Hermione never got to put her two cents in, however, because she was interrupted by a strangled yell coming from the staircase. Everyone in the common room went quiet and turned to look. Loud footsteps echoed down the stairs, and America prepared himself for an adventure. His hopes were rather dashed when it turned out to just be Ron holding a bedsheet.

"LOOK!" he bellowed, striding towards them. "LOOK!" He shook the sheet in her face.

"Ron, what-?" asked Hermione, reflecting America's own confusion.

"SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS!" Hermione was leaning away from Ron, looking understandably bewildered. America looked at the sheet and saw-

"BLOOD!" Ron yelled, his voice all the louder for the silence around them. "HE'S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?"

"N-no," said Hermione shakily.

Ron threw something on the table with the same aplomb that bad people in movies would throw down someone's decapitated head. America was rather relieved when he realized it was just some hair. Hair that looked like it belonged to Crookshanks. America sighed. _Just when they'd made up… It's like I'm living in a soap opera. A really weird soap opera with magic and dragons and sports even more ripe for innuendo than most, and that's saying something._

Whatever progress the return of the Firebolt had made towards mending Ron and Hermione's friendship was completely obliterated. America had hoped that he and Harry wouldn't be dragged to either side of the argument again, but that hope died horribly when Harry pointed out that all evidence suggested Crookshanks had indeed eaten Scabbers.

"So, back to square one," Canada sighed, flipping a page of his Muggle Studies textbook.

America decided to join in on the sighing for once. "I wish. This is more, like, square negative fifty." He glanced at Hermione, who was sitting farther away than usual. "So… what would you say are the chances of her clawing my eyes out if I tell her Harry has a point?"

"Don't sell Hermione so short, Al," said Canada. "She'd curse you."

America groaned, slamming his forehead into his book. As he raised it again he saw Professor Burbage giving him a 'please get back to work, Mr. Jones, before I hang you from the battlements by your ear' look. America dipped his quill in the inkwell and managed to write a whole two sentences before his determination to actually do schoolwork disappeared into the night like a ninja.

Canada leaned over to check what he'd written. "It… was a good try."

"I got literally everything wrong, didn't I?" said America.

"I am honestly impressed by the sheer inaccuracy," said Canada cheerfully. "So, how's Ron doing?"

Relieved to once again have a distraction, America replied, "Bad. You'd think he'd be happier – he was always complaining about that stupid rat."

"Alfred, you of all people should know that animosity and concern aren't mutually exclusive, eh," said Canada.

America turned to look at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Canada shook his head and muttered something under his breath before saying audibly, "Nothing, apparently. Look at it this way – Ron's known Scabbers longer than he's known either of us. He'd be upset if we mysteriously disappeared leaving nothing but blood and cat hair, no matter how much he complains about you."

"He complains about me?"

America could practically hear the gears in Canada's head rapidly switch directions. "No, no, of course not. N-not more than friends usually do, anyway. And sometimes, people only complain because they care and want to improve the thing they're complaining about, you know?"

America cheered up. "Well, when you put it that way… Anyway, you planning on pulling a Switzerland again?"

Canada nodded. "Somebody has to." He glanced at Professor Burbage, who was giving them an 'I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed' look, and quickly went back to work. His heart wasn't in it, though, because scarcely five minutes later he leaned over and whispered, "Anything else I've missed?"

America tried not to smirk as he filed this incident away in his memory for the next time someone tried to shame him into doing actual work by comparing him to his hard-working, blessed-by-the-angels brother. "Uh… Harry's going to try out his Firebolt for the first time tonight. He promised Ron would get a turn after practice, so I butted in and made him promise to let me have one, too. Wanna come with? Harry's a total pushover, he'd let you have a go."

"Aren't I the enemy?" murmured Canada.

"You supporting Ravenclaw tomorrow?"

"No, of course not."

"It'll probably be cool." America paused to review that statement. "Actually, maybe not. If this place had yearbooks, Wood would be listed as 'most likely to have a psychotic break and beat someone to death with a broom'. Heh, 'wood would'."

Canada shrugged. "I think I'll be okay. If worse comes to worse, you can always hide and let me impersonate you."

"Yeah, that would be- wait." America narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to get me out of the picture so that you can get more time on the Firebolt, aren't you?"

Canada's expression was the sort of pure innocence possessed only by the guilty. "Don't be silly. You can ride Harry's broomstick all you want."

America threw up a little in his mouth. "Why'd you have to say it like that? You make it sound so… France-y. Now I don't want to touch it." The smug look of triumph on Canada's face made America shove him out of his chair, Professor Burbage's disapproving gaze be damned.

**A/N: My mind was a bit in the gutter when I wrote this chapter, wasn't it? Ah, well, TOTALLY PLATONIC HUGS! \\(^-^)/ Onto Q&amp;A! To various people: Yes, it was a Fullmetal Alchemist reference. I've never actually seen it, though, I just got it from TVTropes. To Polly Little: I don't know yet. One good thing about pantsing, I guess - no need to worry about spoilers. To pinkdoughnuts: I'll try. As I've said before, I love good sibling relationships. To kakahi: As I have said, I don't know. Even if that changed, I don't want to spoil you guys, so it would be nice if you could stop asking that question. To WhenTheSunRiseSets: 1) Not in the foreseeable future, I'm afraid. 2) No major ships, other than indisputably canon stuff like Ginny/Harry. Sorry. 3) ... Let me see what I can do ;). To Guest: Dang, that was a missed opportunity. Ah, well. For the second point, I think he just treats them like normal students. Very annoying normal students in America's case. NEXT CHAPTER: Sirius Black is bad at revenge. See you all next time!**


	26. Chapter 25

** CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: WOULDN'T WANT TO BE RUDE**

Canada raised, a hand to knock against Professor McGonagall's door. It stayed there, not quite ready to knock as he was gripped by second thoughts. Maybe he'd just imagined it. Maybe it had just been a dream. Maybe there was nothing anyone could do about it now, and telling someone would just cause everyone unnecessary worry and panic. His mind felt still partially asleep, it wasn't up for this kind of decision making. His forehead connected with the door with a _thud_ as he tried to fix it with some percussive maintenance. He hadn't quite realized that a knock on the door with a forehead was still a knock on the door, so he was taken by surprise when it opened and Professor McGonagall appeared, in all her disapproving tartan-clad glory

"Mr. Jones, it is far too late for you to be wandering the corridors," she said sternly.

Canada rubbed his forehead. "S-sorry, Professor. I, eh, have… something important to tell you. It's… kind of a long story."

Professor McGonagall's face underwent the usual transformation when a person realized they were talking to Canada, not America. Her voice was notably softer as she stepped aside and said, "What is it, Jones?"

Canada walked in, trying to wrangle his thoughts into a coherent sequence of events. Professor McGonagall sat in an armchair near the fire and stared expectantly at Canada until he sat down in the other one. Under her steely gaze, the words didn't so much flow from his tongue as been vomited out in a stammering, babbling mess. "So, um… first of all, I snuck into Gryffindor Tower. I'm very, very sorry, but Alfred wanted me to be part of the victory party, and he wouldn't listen when I tried to argue, so sorry about that, eh." The professor said nothing, but Canada could almost feel he waves of disapproval radiating from her. "Anyway, once the party was over, Alfred insisted on having a sleepover, and Ron slept on one of the couches in the common room so I could use his bed. Alfred said he volunteered, but I got the feeling it was more like he _got _volunteered. I'm rambling, sorry. Point is, I got woken up by…" He took a deep breath. The next sentence was going to sound very bad in a multitude of ways no matter how he phrased it. Best to get it over with. "… by Sirius Black slashing the curtains with a knife."

Professor McGonagall remained silent for several long moments, her face impassive, but the muscles in her neck became quite rigid and her fingers clenched. "That is a very serious claim, Mr. Jones," she said eventually.

"I know," said Canada. "I… I probably just dreamed it. Or it could have been someone else. It was pretty dark. But… I guess even if it were, they were still carrying a knife around, so they're probably still trouble, eh."

"Would you like a biscuit?"

Canada blinked several times, as if that would somehow confirm what he just heard. "Er… I'm sorry?"

"A biscuit." Professor McGonagall pulled out her wand and gave it a wave. A tin floated over and opened itself, revealing an assortment of biscuits. "Would you like one?"

Canada swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah, I would, actually. Thank you." He took a chocolatey one and began nibbling on it.

Once he was nearly finished, the professor asked, "What happened next?"

"Hm?" Canada quickly finished chewing and swallowed. "Oh! Er, I… punched him. In the face." Professor McGonagall's expression became even blanker, if that was possible. "I panicked. Then he ran away and Kuma- my pet, he chased after him." He looked out towards the grounds. The office had a very nice view of the Quidditch pitch. "He… he should be okay. Kumalilo's tough. He has a really short attention span, too, so he should get bored and come back by morning."

"And then you came here?" asked the professor.

Canada jerked his attention back. "Oh, uh, yes."

"And you didn't wake anyone else up?" Her voice was finally showing emotion again. In this case, the emotion was incredulousness.

"Er… yes. It took everyone so long to fall asleep, and I didn't want them to worry, so I just… snuck out."

Professor McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. "Matthew, you are a very polite young man. That is an excellent quality to have in most cases, but what you just did is the best example of politeness taken too far that I can think of."

Canada nodded and took another biscuit out of the tin. "Understood, professor. I'll keep it in mind for the next time someone tries to kill me, eh."

Professor McGonagall took a breath deep enough to be clearly audible before getting to her feet and saying, "You had best get back to the Hufflepuff Common Room and get some sleep, Mr. Jones. I'll handle it from here."

Canada swallowed the last of the biscuits and stood up as well. "Okay. Sorry for all the trouble, eh." The professor took another deep breath, and Canada got the distinct feeling she was barely restraining herself from either lecturing him on the proper times to be polite until she was blue in the face or breaking something. Either way, he got out of there as fast as possible.

He got to his dormitory without incident. The door opened without a sound, allowing his dorm-mates to continue sleeping. It usually creaked when opened, but Canada had a weird knack for opening doors silently. He slipped into his bed and closed his eyes, but his mind was too awhirl with thoughts to rest. His ears were wide open, interpreting any sound as Sirius Black, or the staff searching for him, or Kumakaiju coming back. _Sorry, Professor McGonagall. Looks like I can't follow your instructions_.

But people often surprise themselves, so the next thing Canada knew it was morning and Kumajungle was curled up next to him, dirty but unharmed. _Huh. Sleepiness: 1, Anxiety: 0._ Everyone else had already woken up and left, so he got dressed and went to the Great Hall alone.

The day got off to a _great _start when the first thing he saw upon entering the Great Hall was Professor Flitwick showing the front doors a picture of Sirius Black. Canada's stomach dropped into somewhere in his left shoe. _So it wasn't a dream. _Unable to reasonably continue being in denial, his brain flooded itself in worry and questions. _How did Black get in and out of the castle without getting caught? How much did Professor McGonagall tell everyone? Does anyone else know about my involvement? Since when have the front doors been sentient? Wait, why am I asking that, it's Hogwarts, everything is sentient. Am I going to have to use America as a body double to get away from everyone's questions? What would have happened if Black had found the right bed?_ That last question made him feel the absolute opposite of hungry. He would have skipped breakfast entirely and gone back to the common room to brood in peace until the first class of the day if Kumajarate hadn't decided he was taking too long and wandered into the Great Hall on his own. Canada sighed and followed him, ducking his head down and hoping against hope that America wouldn't notice him.

Hoping against hope didn't make any sense whatsoever when you thought about it, though, and America seemed to have some sort of sixth sense when it came to spotting Canada when he didn't want to deal with him. "BROOOOOOOOOO!" A few people looked up at the shout, only to roll their eyes and go back to what they were doing when they realized who it was.

"Morning, Alfred," Canada sighed.

"Morning? MORNING?!" America grabbed him by the shoulders and began shaking him roughly. "EXPLAIN, MATT! EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN!"

"Alfred, he can't explain anything while you're shaking him like that," reproached an approaching Hermione. Surprisingly, Harry and Ron were at her side. He supposed their wish for an explanation outweighed their animosity towards each other, for the moment anyway. Or maybe he was wrong and it was two different students. His vision was pretty choppy at the moment.

"Oh. Oops." America mercifully stopped. "But seriously, bro, EXPLAIN!"

Canada adjusted his glasses and looked to the Golden Trio for support, but their expressions held more curiosity than sympathy. Canada sighed for the third time in two minutes. Sadly, that wasn't anywhere near his record. "All right. I'd prefer if I could, um, have a bit more privacy, eh," he said, nodding towards the nearby students who were surreptitiously listening in.

"Ugh, _fiiiine_." America grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him into the Entrance Hall, and from there to the nearest empty classroom. "Look, we're alone, SPILL ALREADY!"

Canada waited until Ron closed the door behind him. "How much do you already know?"

Hermione, Fount of All Knowledge, stepped forth. "We know that Sirius Black got into Gryffindor Tower by somehow stealing the Neville's list of passwords, but a student caught him and he fled. Everyone in Gryffindor says it wasn't them, and you were gone, so we thought it might have been you."

"You were right, eh." Canada told them his tale as succinctly as possible, feeling hungry again and wanting to get some breakfast.

When he finished, the others stared at him in stone-faced silence. After several awkward moments, Ron said, "Let me get this straight. You saw Sirius Black standing above you with a knife… and you punched him in the face."

"Yes," said Canada.

"… and then you left without waking anyone up and telling them about it because you didn't want to be rude?"

"… Yes?"

America grabbed him by the shoulders and began shaking him again. "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, MATTIE?!"

"Please stop shaking me," said Canada.

"I'm not stopping until I shake the humility out of you!"

Canada looked to the others for support. "Guys? A little help here?"

"I would, but… he kind of has a point," said Harry. Ron nodded in agreement, and the two of them left the classroom. Hermione followed them once enough time had passed that one could argue she had come to the conclusion on her own and wasn't just following her former, traitorous friends.

**A/N: Okay, formatting should be fixed now! Sorry about that. I'd apologize for my tardiness, as well, but I think at this point I've completely desensitized you all to it. I have the attention span of a gnat, it seems. On the plus side, in case you hadn't noticed, I've finally got a proper cover! It was done by the wonderful WhenTheSunRiseSets, and if you need a cover you should totally PM her. HUGS FOR EVERYONE! \\(^-^)/ QA time. To Phantomgirl338: 1) I am a naive, wide-eyed youth, so sure, why not. 2) I'm in a random sort of mood, so I'll say Herr Schtick (in case I want to poke something) and Mochimerica (so I can use him as a mode of transportation). It would be highly hypocritical of me to get mad at you for not posting anything for long periods of time, so all is well. :) To Silver-chan: I really appreciate the thought, but I kind of want to keep the OC's to a minimum. Thank you for your kind words, though! NEXT CHAPTER: Hogsmeade adventures. See you all next time!**


	27. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: ROCKETS AND RACCOONS**

America had often mockingly referred to people as tree-huggers. Only now did he understand how vitally important hugging trees could be.

"Alfred, stop being so silly," snapped an exasperated Hermione, pulling futilely at his arm with all her might.

"I'm being silly? I'M BEING SILLY? YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WANTS TO GO LOOK AT GHOSTS!"

Hermione gave up her efforts to get him to let go of the tree by force, stepping back and trying to catch her breath. "Please, Alfred, I'm only trying to help you. This phobia of yours is completely irrational."

"Of course it's irrational! That's, like, the entire point of a phobia!"

"Ghosts are incorporeal, there is literally nothing they can do to you," said Hermione.

"Then how do you explain Peeves, Miss… Explainer!" said America, clinging even tighter to his new best friend.

"He's a poltergeist, poltergeists are completely different. They are born from-"

"Look, I don't need to know where baby poltergeists come from! I'm going to make friends with this tree and live in the forest and become one with nature! Isn't that right, Groot?" he added, patting the tree fondly.

"Groot?" Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't need to know. If that's what you want, fine. I'll leave you here and go see if Matthew wants to go to the Shrieking Shack."

"Fine, do that!"

"I will!"

"Good!"

Hermione took another step away. "Look, I'm doing it!"

"Great! I'm really happy for you! Follow your dreams, I believe in you!

Hermione threw her hands into the air and stomped away. America loosened his grip on Groot somewhat. "Sorry, buddy. So, what do you want to do?" The tree remained silent. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. And if you did, it would just be 'I am Groot' anyway." He gasped, almost leaping away as he got a super awesometacular idea. "I know! I'll go get a raccoon and call him Rocket Raccoon and then we'll all become friends, and then I'll write to Tony so we can all go into space and become the Guardians of the Galaxy! And then we can contact Marvel and be like 'Hey, dudes, see, the Guardians can totally be A-listers!' And then the comic will get super popular and we can all join the Avengers and-" He stopped. "Oh, wait, right, superheroes aren't real. That sucks. How come magic gets to be real, but not superheroes?" He hit himself on the head. "Focus, America! First thing's first, you need to find a raccoon. And then you need to stop talking to yourself. Oh, who am I kidding, no I don't!" He skipped (in a very manly way, of course) off deeper into the forest, in search of new fluffy forest friends.

Instead what he found were three most definitely un-fluffy forest enemies. The Three Stooges came barrelling through the trees in a manner that just begged for a humorous simile, but they were running so fast that America didn't have time to come up with a good one before they were gone, and he preferred to think of Draco Malfoy (heh, still a stupid name) as little as possible. He was clearly Harry's arch-nemesis, not his own, and he didn't want to be a third wheel. So he continued wandering through the forest looking for raccoons and adventure. He found neither. He blamed Scotland for it. Back at his place, you couldn't go ten steps without finding a raccoon or an adventure. And to think he thought Scotland was a cool guy.

But giving up wasn't America's style, so he was still looking when England found him. "Why are there no raccoons around here?" America demanded as soon as he spotted England.

England froze, whatever withering lecture he'd had prepared dying on his lips. "What?"

"Racoons!" America repeated. "Small, furry, look and act like thief caricatures?"

"Raccoons don't live around here," said England, still off-balance.

"Yeah, I noticed. You totally need to fix that."

England shook his head and went back into angry authority figure mode. "And _you _need to fix your tardiness. You were supposed to be back at the castle half an hour ago. Your friends are all worried sick about you."

"I wouldn't lump them all together at the moment, if I were you," warned America.

"They seemed pretty united when I saw them," said England. Before America could get any clarification, England grabbed him by the collar. "I really don't feel like walking all the way back, so if you throw up, try not to do it on me, would you?"

"I'VEGOTABADFEELINGABOUTTHIS!" America yelled before England turned on the spot and did something bad. America wasn't sure exactly what, but everything suddenly went dark and it felt like that time he'd gotten run over by a steamroller (long story, a road under construction and a copy of the E.T. video game were involved), so it was definitely a bad thing. It was over only a second later, thank God. America expressed his relief by dropping to his knees and throwing up.

"Finished?" asked England. America glared up at him, wiping his mouth. Then his glare turned into more of a puzzled frown because he noticed they were just outside the school gate rather than in a forest.

"Did… did we just teleport?" America asked.

"The correct term is 'Apparate', but in laymen's terms, yes," said England. "Now let's-"

America jumped to his feet. "What the hell, dude?! You just completely ruined my first teleporting experience! You couldn't have said, 'Oh, hey, I'm going to make all your Star Trek dreams come true', no, you had to _ruin _it by making me all freaked out and nervous! You suck!" He stomped over to the gate and tried to open it. 'Tried' being the operative word.

After watching him struggle a little bit, England cleared his throat in an infuriatingly condescending way. America gave the gate one last mighty rattle before stepping aside and avoiding eye contact while England used some kind of spell on the gate to open it. "You're welcome," he said smugly as it swung open.

"Frak you," growled America, storming towards the castle as quickly as he could without outright running.

He was still feeling pretty grouchy when he reached Gryffindor Tower. Then he spotted the Golden Trio sitting together and his bad mood evaporated. "DUDES YOU'RE FRIENDS AGAIN THAT'S SO AWESOME!" Then he noticed their uniformly downcast expressions. "Uh, why aren't any of you happy?"

"Hagrid lost the case and Buckbeak might get executed," said Ron.

"Oh. Yeah, that would explain it." _I really need to read that 'atmosphere' book England's always talking about. _Speaking of England… "Wasn't Iggy supposed to fix that? What happened?"

"You'd know better than us," said Hermione. "I guess he didn't have as much pull as he thought."

America sat down next to Harry with a huff. "In hindsight, relying on Iggy isn't a good idea. So, what's the plan?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "The plan?"

"Y'know, the plan to save Buckbeak? You do have one, right?"

Hermione shrugged. "Same thing as before, I suppose; try to find useful precedents. We still have the appeal."

"And you've got our help now," declared Ron, gesturing to himself and Harry. "With all of us working together, those Ministry b-" He shot a guilty glance at Hermione. "- er, blokes… won't stand a chance!"

America bit his lip. "Okay, uh, teamwork is great and all, dudes, but that is a really boring plan." He gasped. "OMG, dudes, I have a plan!"

"What does oh-em-gee mea-"

Hermione didn't get to finish the question, because America was on a roll. "I'll write to Tony, and he'll bring his spaceship and pick up Buckbeak and get him back to my place! The Ministry only has jurisdiction in Britain, right? Right?" He looked to Hermione for confirmation, because now he thought about it he wasn't sure whether or not the Ministry of Magic was some kind of global organization.

"That is true," Hermione grudgingly admitted. "But alien abduction is _not _a feasible plan."

"Alien abduction is _always _a feasible plan!" said America. "God, you sound just like Iggy! Speaking of which, why don't you people have raccoons?"

There were times when America really had to admire how in-synch the Golden Trio were. This was one of those times, as they gave him identical, monumentally blank looks before saying, in unison, "I'm going to bed."

**A/N: Hey, guys, I'm not dead! Yay! I'm just severely lacking in inspiration and work ethic. I should work on that if I want to finish this thing before I die of old age. Anyways, onto Q&amp;A! To HetaRosFangirl: Yes, Canada is the older brother, but America is stronger and has a bigger population and stuff so he considers himself the 'big brother'. And for the second question, that was what he saw at that moment. If he'd looked at it while his friend wasn't in mortal peril, he probably would have seen the entire world hailing him as their hero or something. Don't worry, I'm sure there will be plenty of angst for everyone. :) To That Person: Scotland was in Gryffindor and Northern Ireland was in Ravenclaw. Austria seems really Ravenclaw to me, and I think Greece would probably be in Hufflepuff. To divergentlover523: I don't think so. Unless America suddenly decides to something really, really stupid, which let's face it isn't off the table. Thank you for all your support, everyone. I'm on Tumblr now (still friendofthequn), so you can bother me on there for updates, too. NEXT CHAPTER: Hermione hits Malfoy. See you all next time!**


	28. Chapter 27

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: EXIT, PURSUED BY RESPONSIBILITIES**

America stared up at the sky, biting his lower lip in thought as he walked. Yes, there was definitely plenty of room for Tony to fly in. He'd be pretty exposed, though, and Tony was really camera-shy. Then again, everyone around would be witches and wizards. If they looked out the window and saw a flying hunk of metal, they'd barely bat an eyelid. Operation: Eagle-Horse Rescue was looking good.

His thoughts were dragged down from the clouds by someone putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him in his tracks. He looked down and saw that Harry was the owner of the hand, and that the Care of Magical Creatures class had reached the castle. America turned his attention back to Hagrid, who was currently sobbing into his handkerchief. Wanting to cheer him up, he said, "I totally zoned out there and have no idea what you were talking about, but don't worry, Hagrid! I've got a plan! Everything's gonna turn out awesome!"

Hagrid gave him a tearful, faint, disbelieving smile, before turning around and heading back towards his cabin. America didn't have time to formulate an opinion on that before a familiar nasal whine hurled itself at his ears. "Look at him blubber!" The Three Stooges had been listening in, and Malfoy was being… well… Malfoy. "Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic? And he's supposed to be our teacher!"

America, Harry and Ron all made moves to inflict some form of bodily harm on him, but Hermione beat them to the punch. Or, rather, slap. Hell, just 'slap' didn't do it justice, America thought as he watched Malfoy stagger. That was a full-on Bitch-Slap of Justice. "Don't you _dare _call Hagrid pathetic, you foul – you evil –" Her hand rose again for the highly-awaited (at least for America) encore.

"Hermione!" said Ron weakly, reaching out to stop her.

Thankfully, Hermione would be having none of that. "Get _off_, Ron!" She pulled out her wand. Malfoy stepped backwards, and Crabbe and Goyle were looking as if their single shared brain cell had imploded.

"C'mon," Malfoy muttered, showing a surprising self-preservation instinct as the three of them fled like the cowardly cowards they were.

America whistled. "_Da-yum_."

"Seconded," said Ron, staring at Hermione in equal parts shock and awe.

"Harry, you'd better beat him in the Quidditch final!" said Hermione shrilly. "You just better had, because I can't stand it if Slytherin win!"

"We're due in Charms," said Ron, still looking at Hermione like she'd suddenly transformed into Wonder Woman. "We'd better go."

The four of them started up the stairs towards the classroom, but they'd gone only a couple steps before Hermione grabbed America's sleeve. She pressed a finger to her lips, silently urging him to be quiet, and pulled the Time-Turner out. _Shoot. Right, we've got… uh… something. I think we might have too many classes. _Hermione lowered the chain over his head and turned the hourglass once. The staircase dissolved like a bad scene transition, and for a few moments it felt like he was flying backwards through that creepy tunnel from Willy Wonka. Then it stopped and everything was totally normal again.

Hermione hid the Time-Turner again and set off purposefully. "You finished the essay, didn't you?" she asked as America hurried to catch up. "If you wrote down pop song lyrics again while I wasn't looking, Professor Vector is going to be very cross."

_Right, Arithmancy! I totally knew that_. "Of course I didn't!" Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. "I wrote down Disney song lyrics, but they were just placeholders until I thought of something to write. Which I _did_, eventually," he added in the face of her disapproval.

Hermione sighed. "I can't believe you're actually doing pretty well in this course." America simply gave a shrug and a grin in response.

Arithmancy was, as usual, a whirlwind of complicated numbers and words being relentlessly thrown in America's face. He wrote it all down, anyway, because once he was looking it all over later he'd have an epiphany and suddenly it would all make sense. That probably wasn't a very good learning method, but it worked. Plus, it wasn't as if America would suddenly be unemployed because he got a bad grade. About an hour later he wandered out of the classroom in a daze, with only Hermione's guiding shoves to keep him from walking straight through a window and plummeting to a not-death that would be very tough to explain. As the two made their way to the Great Hall, America couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something. He ignored it. He forgot a lot of things, and if Hermione wasn't bugging him about it, it probably wasn't that important.

They were just outside the Entrance Hall when America stopped to look out a window. "Hey, Hermione? Does that owl look mad to you, or is it just me?"

Hermione looked up from the (very thick) book she'd been reading as she walked. "Hmm?" She followed his gaze. "No, that owl looks very angry."

"It's been following us for a while now," said America. He gasped, stepping in front of Hermione. "IT'S A DEMON OWL!"

Hermione shoved him out of the way. "No, Alfred, it's probably got a letter for one of us. I wonder why it's late…" She opened the window, and sure enough the demon owl held out a leg with a letter attached to it, glaring at him all the while. It flew off as soon as Hermione had removed the letter. She looked at it briefly, then held it out to him. "It's for you."

He took it, and was overjoyed to recognize the handwriting. "IT'S TONY! OPERATION: EAGLE-HORSE RESCUE IS ABOUT TO BEGIN!" He ripped the envelope open and began to read the letter.

Even America had to admit that Tony's methods of communication could be a bit… odd. A cursory glance at anything he wrote would reveal only a flood of profanity, but if one took the time to read between the lines his true meaning shone through. In this case, America almost wished he wasn't so good at understanding his friend. Reading a whole page of swearing would be far more amusing.

"WHAT?!" he yelled, clutching the letter so hard it almost ripped.

Hermione looked up from her book. "What's wrong?"

"Since when does technology not work at Hogwarts?!"

"Pretty much since before advanced technology was invented," said Hermione. "I told you to read _Hogwarts: A History_, didn't I?"

"What- but- but I…" He read the letter again. Roughly translated, it said, _Spaceships don't work in that place. I tried flying through there once when we were trying to scare that limey bastard at Halloween, and I crashed and was nearly adopted by some family. It was horrible. You're on your own. _All of America's anger drained away. His hands fell limply to his sides, the letter falling to the ground. "… I can't do it. I can't save Buckbeak."

"There's still the appeal," said Hermione encouragingly. "We've got twice the manpower now, I'm sure we can find something that will make the Committee change their minds!"

"Hermione, I appreciate you trying to cheer me up," said America. "But I kinda just want to be depressed right now. I'm gonna go back to the Common Room and cry about how much homework we have. Later." He wouldn't admit it aloud, at least while he was in Angst Mode, but he was relieved that it only took Hermione a few moments to start following him.

There wasn't very much crying, in the end. America's feelings on his homework were much better expressed via sustained loud yelling. Hermione mostly just worked on their new Arithmancy reading, occasionally nodding and giving vaguely affirmational noises when she felt a response to his complaining was necessary. Eventually America was yelled out and fell asleep.

He was feeling much better when he woke up, except for the fact that someone had repeatedly prodded him to accomplish it. "I'm up, I'm up!" he said, slapping the offending hand away. Ron winced and rubbed his freshly-slapped hand.

On his other side, Hermione was being prodded awake by Harry. "Wh-what?" she said, waking up suddenly and staring wildly around. "Is it time to go? W-which lesson have we got now?" She must have fallen asleep after him. America felt quite proud of their teamwork.

"Divination, but it's not for another twenty minutes," said Harry. America groaned and let his head collide with the table with a dull _thunk_. At least with Arithmancy, the daze he walked out of the classroom in was because of the sheer amount of (hopefully) useful information he was trying to absorb. With Divination it was from sheer boredom. "Why weren't you two in Charms?"

America would have facepalmed if his face wasn't currently resting on the table. As it was, he raised it slightly and slammed it back down. _I knew I forgot something! _"What? Oh no! I forgot to go to Charms!" Hermione squeaked.

"But how could you forget?" asked Harry. "You were with us till we were right outside the classroom!"

America raised his head for real this time. "We got distracted by an owl that was carrying the response Tony sent me. Apparently, magical castles and spaceships don't mix, so Operation: Eagle-Horse Rescue is a bust." _Wow, coming up with lies is getting way easier! Practice makes perfect, I guess._

"And I was just so angry about Malfoy, I completely lost track of things," said Hermione. "Still, I can't believe I was so careless! Was Professor Flitwick angry?"

"You know what?" said Ron, looking down at the weapons-grade enormous book Hermione had been reading. "I reckon you two are cracking up. You're trying to do too much."

"I AM LIMITLESS!" America declared.

"Yes, we're fine!" said Hermione, brushing out her hair with her fingers and looking around for her bag. "We just made a mistake, that's all. We'd better go and see Professor Flitwick and say sorry… We'll see you in Divination!" She put her book back in her bag (she was going to be totally ripped by the time she got out of school), slung it over her shoulder, grabbed America's sleeve, and began dragging him out of the Common Room.

Professor Flitwick was perfectly understanding. He was a pretty chill dude. Or maybe he just noticed that Hermione was looking a bit like she might start breaking things at the slightest provocation. Whatever his reasons, he told them what they'd missed and encouraged them to be more thoughtful next time.

"They have a spell that is literally called a Cheering Charm?" America wondered aloud as he and Hermione trekked to Divination. "Why isn't everyone perpetually happy, then?"

"A Cheering Charm only briefly boosts your mood, it hardly grants true happiness," said Hermione. "Oh, I can't believe I forgot an entire class! We'll need to know about the charm for our exams, I just know it!"

"Hermione, you already know pretty much every spell known to mankind, I think you'll be good," said America. "Seriously, dude, you need to _chill_." Hermione only responded with a brief glare before pulling a book out of her bag and beginning to read as she walked. This gave America the opportunity to give her an appraising look without seeming creepy. She was looking the very opposite of chill. She was looking rather pale, her hair was even bushier than usual, and there were bags under her eyes. Her wide, manic eyes. He wasn't about to say it out loud (that book had enough heft to crack skulls), but he had to wonder whether Ron had a point about their workload. America himself barely had any time to draw self-insert superhero comics anymore, which was truly a tragedy of Shakespearean levels.

Hermione clearly wasn't in a chatty mood, so America whistled to himself until they reached the North Tower. Harry and Ron were waiting for them, and the four climbed up the ladder and took their seats around a table. A crystal ball was sitting in the middle of it. "I thought we weren't starting crystal balls until next term," Ron muttered, looking around to make sure Professor Trelawney didn't suddenly manifest from the shadows to scold him.

"Don't complain, this means we've finished palmistry," Harry muttered back. "I was getting sick of her flinching every time she looked at my hands."

"Good day to you!" said the familiar, misty voice as Professor Trelawney manifested from the shadows. As much as he might dislike her, America had to admit she had her dramatic entrances down pat. "I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned. The fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice."

Hermione snorted. "Well, honestly… 'the fates have informed her'… who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!"

"Yeah, what'll she predict next, 'the sun will rise tomorrow'?" sniggered America.

Some more hippie mumbo-jumbo later and they were all staring blankly into the crystal ball. As time passed and the most interesting thing to happen was Ron coughing, America had to wonder whether Professor Trelawney was just pulling their collective leg. Apparently emptying your mind was the key to this, and England had always said that America had the emptiest mind he'd ever encountered.

"Seen anything yet?" Harry eventually asked.

"Yeah, there's a burn on this table," said Ron, pointing. "Someone's spilled their candle."

"Hey, you're seeing into the past! Progress!" said America.

"That's not how it works," said Hermione. "This is such a waste of time. I could be practicing something useful. I could be catching up on Cheering Charms –"

Professor Trelawney chose that moment to glide by. "Would anyone like me to help them interpret the shadowy portents of their Orb?"

"I don't need help," Ron whispered. "It's obvious what this means. There's going to be loads of fog tonight." America, Harry and Hermione all burst out laughing.

"Now, really! You are disturbing the clairvoyant vibrations!" said Professor Trelawney. America didn't know much about 'clairvoyant vibrations' (except that it would be a great name for a band), but looking around he could see they were certainly disturbing everyone's concentration. Then again, it was Divination. They would have been distracted by just about anything. Professor Trelawney came over to their table and peered into the orb.

"Oh, boy," America half-murmured, half-sighed. "Here we go."

"There is something here!" Professor Trelawney whispered dramatically. "Something moving… but what is it? My dear…" She gazed up at Harry. "It is here, plainer than ever before… my dear, stalking towards you, growing ever closer… the Gr-"

"Oh, for _goodness'_ sake!" Hermione practically screamed. "Not that ridiculous Grim _again_!"

"Yeah, seriously!" America concurred. "We get it! Harry's going to die a tragic, untimely death! Could you move onto something else already?"

Professor Trelawney stood up and looked down at the two of them with, for the first time, legitimate anger. "I am sorry to say that from the moment you two arrived in this class, my _dears_, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of Divination requires. Indeed, I don't remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly Mundane."

There was a moment of silence as America tried to decide whether or not to take 'Mundane' as an insult. Hermione made up her mind faster, though. "Fine!" she said, getting up and shoving the textbook back in her bag. "Fine!" She slung the bag on her shoulder, nearly hitting Ron in the face. "I give up! I'm leaving!" With that, she strode over to the trapdoor, kicked it open, and climbed down the ladder out of sight.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, America, feeling too tired to try and top Hermione's exit (though there was not a doubt in his mind that he could have if he'd wanted to), simply stood up, grabbed his book, said, "Ditto," and left as well.

**A/N: Okay, peeps, enough's enough, I AM FINISHING THIS BOOK BY THE END OF SUMMER IF IT KILLS ME! Wish me luck! No questions, so let's wrap this up. NEXT CHAPTER: The Quidditch final. See you all next time!**


	29. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: FINAL FLIGHT**

Canada squinted at the book he was reading. The bright sun was illuminating the page with such ferocity that it was almost blinding. Combined with the excited buzz of conversation surrounding him, it was enough to make him give up on the book for the moment. It was an old record of wizard court cases, and he'd been flipping through trying to find those precedents Buckbeak sorely needed. In hindsight, the final Quidditch game of the year was probably a bad place for research. He sighed, stowing the book back in his bag. Kumajuhani wasted no time in jumping onto his newly-vacated lap with a muttered, "Who are you?"

"I'm Matthew," Canada said automatically. The bear sniffed at Canada's Gryffindor rosette, and after ascertaining that it wasn't edible he curled up and fell asleep. _Lucky you_, Canada thought to himself. There was no way he would be able to fall asleep instantly on such a bright day with such a racket.

So, sure enough, the next thing Canada was aware of was being shaken awake. "Matthew, the match is about to start, wake up!" said Justin Finch-Fletchley. Canada rubbed at his eyes and tried to shake the sleepiness out of his mind. _Perhaps staying up so late studying wasn't such a good idea._

He checked his watch to see that Justin was right. If everything was on schedule, the Gryffindor and Slytherin teams should be walking onto the pitch any minute, and it showed. The chatter of the crowd was much louder, and Lee Jordan could be heard doing a sound check. Canada adjusted his glasses and sat up straighter, taking care not to dislodge the still-sleeping Kumafiyero. "Okay. Thanks, Justin," he said.

The words were barely out of his mouth when the Gryffindor team walked onto the pitch and the crowd collectively lost their minds. Canada couldn't remember the last time the ratio of cheering and booing had been so biased towards the former. Even the Ravenclaws and his fellow Hufflepuffs were eager to see Slytherin crushed. Even Zacharias Smith, the most sympathetic to Slytherin of Canada's classmates, had joined Hannah Abbott, Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones in holding up a huge banner emblazoned with the Gryffindor lion. Then again, that might have been pure peer pressure.

"And here are the Gryffindors!" yelled Lee Jordan. "Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best side Hogwarts has seen in a good few years-" The Slytherins all booed. Before the entire rest of the school could retaliate vocally, Lee continued. "And here come the Slytherin team, led by captain Flint. He's made some changes in the line-up and seems to be going for size rather than skill-" The Slytherins booed again, but even from this distance Canada could see that there was evidence backing Lee's claim.

The captains approached each other and presumably shook hands, then the two teams mounted their brooms and took off. The crowd cheered so loudly Canada saw quite a few people wince and cover their ears. Lee started commentating as soon as his voice could be heard over the din. "And it's Gryffindor in possession, Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Slytherin goalposts, looking good, Alicia! Argh, no – Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing up the pitch – WHAM! – nice bludger work there by George Weasley, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it's caught by – Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Angelina – nice swerve around Montague – _duck, Angelina, that's a bludger! – _SHE SCORES! TEN-ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!"

Truth be told, Canada wasn't paying that much attention to the more action-packed part of the game. He was too busy keeping an eye on Harry. He had an awful track record when it came to Quidditch-related injuries, after all. He wasn't doing very much at the moment, just hanging around or flying in circles, keeping an eye out for the Snitch. Malfoy was just following Harry around instead of looking for it himself. _I guess he's finally come to terms with his skill as a Seeker, _Canada thought to himself. It also meant that the one student at Hogwarts who hated Harry the most was in just the right position to hurt him. It would be completely against the rules and get him in a lot of trouble, but that hadn't stopped him before. Canada wished that the match would wrap up quickly before anyone got hurt, but he knew it was unlikely. If Gryffindor wanted to win the Cup (which they clearly did), Harry would have to wait until they were more than fifty points ahead to catch the Snitch. Canada sighed and ran a hand through his hair. This was going to be a long match.

As the game wore on, there was both good news and bad news. The good news was that the Gryffindors were clearly superior in skill, getting an early lead and holding onto it. The bad news was that the Slytherins were not happy about this and reaffirming all the negative stereotypes of their house by cheating and resorting to violence. Even if Gryffindor won, the after-party might have a damper on it from half the team being in the hospital wing. Surprisingly, Harry was _not _the most injured. For once he was getting through a match completely unscathed. _Is it Opposite Day or something? _Canada wondered.

Two collisions, two clubbings, one head-grab, one elbow to the face, two illegal attacks on the Keeper, one broom-grab, and a lot of swearing from Lee later, Canada had to resist the urge to pull his own hair out. Gryffindor were only fifty points ahead, but Angelina Johnson had the Quaffle and was speeding towards the Slytherin end of the field. Just when Canada's hopes rose, almost every single member of the Slytherin team flew forward to form a blockade. But then, with a sound that reminded Canada of nothing more than the velociraptors from Jurassic Park, Harry barrelled into them at full speed and scattered them, like a magical Moses that was more into sports than liberation. Angelina made the goal, unsurprisingly since the Slytherin Keeper had been part of the blockade. It would have been very depressing if she hadn't gotten it.

Harry spun around in the air, flew to the middle of the pitch, and suddenly dived towards the ground. Canada looked at his destination and saw a flash of gold. He also saw Malfoy aiming for it as well, and much closer to it than Harry was. Canada's heart leapt to his throat. _Come on, Harry, don't let that hoser win! _There was a chance, at least, as Harry was gaining on him fast. Canada's hands clenched into fists as his heartbeat pounded in his ears. He tried to mentally shake himself – _it's just a school tournament, it's not like the results will change the world_\- and failed. At least he could comfort himself by looking over at Hannah, whose eyes were almost as large as saucers as she hyperventilated into a paper bag, and feeling downright serene by comparison.

In the end, however, Harry's talent and expensive broomstick beat Malfoy's head start and slightly less expensive broomstick. As Harry rose into the air, Snitch clutched tightly in his fist, the crowd erupted into such a frenzy that for a moment Canada thought something had gone horribly wrong and the stadium had exploded. The rest of Harry's team rushed over to him to perform the first airborne group hug Canada had ever seen, and as they clumsily made their way to the ground everyone in the stands began getting to their feet and hurrying to the stairs. Canada picked up Kumazero and joined them, if only to keep from getting trampled.

The great crimson horde swarmed onto the pitch, engulfing the Gryffindor team in a sea of cheering and pats on the back. In the midst of all the celebration, Canada heard a depressingly familiar sound. It was a mixture of pained grunts, exclamations of surprise, and a voice saying, "Make way, hero coming through, 'scuse me."

Canada tapped Hannah on the shoulder. "Would you please hold Kumariri for me, eh?" he asked, holding the miraculously still sleeping bear out to her.

"All right," she said, looking very confused but still taking Kumayumi into her arms. "Why-"

Her question was interrupted by America reaching Canada and crushing him in a hug that would have likely snapped an unsuspecting polar bear cub caught in it in two. "MATT DUDE MATT MATTIE MATT BRO DUDE WE WON!" His skills of articulation depleted, America screamed incoherently into Canada's ear. Canada made eye contact with Hannah and raised an eyebrow. She nodded in silent understanding.

Canada looked back to where he remembered the team being before they were obscured by fans and saw that they'd been lifted onto the shoulders of the crowd. Canada was sure he saw Harry's gaze fall on him and America, so he smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up. America noticed, too, and released Canada from his death grip to raise his arms in a V and cheered loud enough to make everyone in a five foot radius wince.

Harry and the others were carried over to Professor Dumbledore, who stood with the Quidditch Cup and a warm smile. As a sobbing Wood handed the Cup to Harry, who was looking happier than Canada had ever seen him, his vision started to get a bit blurry. He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve.

America noticed. "Dude, seriously?"

"I-it's just," Canada choked. "Everyone's so happy, and they've all been working so hard, a-and seeing it all pay off so… it's all just so wonderful!"

"Well, when you put it like that…" America abruptly hugged Canada again and started bawling. "You're right! The world is such a beautiful place right now!" They got a few odd looks, but Canada didn't worry about it. If everybody hadn't already noticed he and America were a bit weird, he sincerely feared for their futures.

**A/N: Okay, I lost all my inspiration almost immediately after publishing that last chapter and it took a while to get it back, but we're approaching the climax now which should be really fun to write so I might be able to finish on schedule! Thank you all for being so supportive! NEXT CHAPTER: Exams and executions. See you all next time!**


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